THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


THIRTY    YEARS 
PASSED  AMONG  THE  PLAYERS 

IN 

ENGLAND  AND  AMERICA: 


INTERSPERSED    WITH 


ANECDOTES  AND  REMINISCENCES 

OF    A    VARIETY    OF    PERSONS, 
DIRECTLY    OR    INDIRECTLY    CONNECTED    WITH    THE    DRAMA    DURING    THE 

THEATRICAL   LIFE   OF 

JOE    COWELL,   COMEDIAN. 

WRITTEN  BY  HIMSELF. 


IN    TWO    PARTS. 

PART  I.-EN  GLAND. 


"  No  author  who  understands  the  boundaries  of  decorum  and  good  breeding,  would  presume  to  think 
all :  the  truest  respect  which  you  can  pay  to  the  reader's  understanding  is  to  halve  this  matter  amicably, 
and  leave  him  something  to  imagine  in  his  turn,  as  well  as  yourself." — Sterne. 


NEW-YORK: 

HARPER  &   BROTHERS,  82   CLIFF-STREET. 

1844. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1843,  by 

Harper  &  Brothers, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  Southern  District  of  New- York. 


£538 
C?9A2 


ADVERTISEMENT 


TO    THE    WICKED    READER. 


In  addressing  for  the  first  time  a  per- 
son— or  body  corporate  or  incorporate — 
some  embarrassment  often  arises  as  to 
"  the  eftest  way"  of  commencing  your  re- 
quest or  apology ;  but  as  I  intend  making 
neither  the  one  nor  the  other,  I  feel  no 
hesitation  in  adopting  the  above,  as  being 
most  likely  to  suit  the  character  of  the 
class  of  persons  into  whose  hands  this 
work  may  fall.  I  have  "  turned  over  many 
books,"  and  have  found  "  Gentle  Reader," 
and  "  Kind  Reader,"  and  all  sorts  of  ami- 
able "  Readers"  by  dozens,  but  the  "  Wick- 
ed Reader"  I  think  I  have  got  all  to  my- 
self. And  if  we  only  take  notice  of  all 
that  occurs  to  us  every  day  in  the  week, 
and  believe  half  what  is  said  to  us  every 
Sunday,  this  book  will  certainly  be  perused 
by  a  very  large  majority  who  fully  de- 
serve the  title  I  have  selected  for  them. 

Depending  solely  on  memory  for  mate- 
rial, the  incidents  in  the  following  pages 
are  told  without  any  strict  regard  to  chron- 
ological order,  but  as  they  naturally  con- 
nected themselves  by  "relative  sugges- 
tion," as  far  as  possible,  with  the  im- 
pressions they  made  at  the  time.  In  fact, 
encumbering  a  book  of  this  kind  with 
dates,  and  heights,  and  distances,  is  like 
throwing  a  man  overboard,  to  swim  for 
his  life,  buttoned  up  in  buckskin  breeches 
and  boots,  when,  by  "going  it  with  a  perfect 
looseness,"  he  might  have  a  small  chance 
to  escape. 

The  way  I  came  to  undertake  this  task 
at  all  was  simply  this.  In  the  winter  of 
1841,  my  esteemed  friend  F.  W.  Thomas, 
Esq.,  the  successful  novelist,  requested 
me  to  give  him  some  anecdotical  sketches 
of  my  life,  to  be  prepared  by  his  practical 
pen,  as  matter  for  a  periodical  he  was 
then  providing  with  suchlike  insufficient 
food ;  and  I  wrote  for  that  purpose  the 


beginning  of  this  very  book.  Faults  are 
beauties  to  the  eye  of  friendship;  he  de- 
clined accepting  it,  deeming  it  of  higher 
value ;  and  so  strongly  urged  me  to  pro- 
ceed with  my  recollections,  that,  having 
the  luxury  of  leisure  during  the  following 
summer,  I  wrote  at  random  the  first  vol- 
ume. But  since  then  till  now,  having 
had  to  get  my  living  by  putting  the  non- 
sense of  others  into  my  head,  I  have  had 
no  time  to  spare  to  put  my  own  upon  pa- 
per. This  long  wait  between  the  acts  will, 
therefore,  account  for  my  speaking  of  my 
old  friend  Barnes  and  others  as  if  they 
were  still  alive,  when  they  have  been 
foolish  enough  to  die  in  the  interim. 

In  the  second  volume,  as  I  wrote  care- 
lessly along,  I  found  I  was  recollecting  too 
much,  and  was  therefore  compelled  to 
take  shelter  in  an  abruptness  which  I  had 
not  at  first  contemplated.  A  smile  of  ap- 
probation from  my  old  associates  is  the 
chief  reward  I  look  for  from  this  truth-tell- 
ing gossip  ;  but  if  I  told  the  tvhole  truth,  it 
might  cause  a  laugh  on  the  wrong  side  of 
the  mouth.  And  even  you,  wicked  reader, 
wouldn't  wish  me,  though  in  joke,  to  wound 
the  feelings  of  a  class  of  persons  the  cant- 
ing world  has  for  ages  made  most  sensi- 
tive to  wrong,  because  it  has  never  done 
them  right. 

And  now,  to  borrow  the  extemporaneous 
language  of  the  members  of  my  profession, 
when  "  respectfully"  informing  an  audience 
that  some  villanous  tyro  will  be  substitu- 
ted instead  of  the  sterling  performer  they 
have  walked  a  mile  and  paid  their  dollar 
to  see, 

Most  Wicked  Reader, 
"  /  rely  on  your  usual  indulgence." 

Joe  Cowell. 

Baltimore,  August  1,  1843. 


787214 


THIRTY    YEARS 


PASSED   AMONG   THE   PLAYERS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

"  But  what's  his  name,  and  where's  his  hame, 
I  dinna  choose  to  tell." — Coming  through  the  Rye. 

"  But  whence  his  name 
And  lineage  long,  it  suits  me  not  to  say." 

Childe  Harold. 

On  the  seventh  day  of  August,  Anno  Domini 
one  thousand  seven  hundred  and  ninety-two,  I 
came  "  into  this  breathing  world." 


CHAPTER  H. 

"  I  have  neither  the  scholar's  melancholy,  which  is  emula- 
tion ;  nor  the  musician's,  which  is  fantastical ;  nor  the  cour- 
tier's, which  is  proud  ;  nor  the  soldier's,  which  is  ambitious  ; 
nor  the  lawyer's,  which  is  politic  ;  nor  the  lady's,  which  is 
nice  ;  nor  the  lover's,  which  is  all  these  ;  but  it  is  a  melan- 
choly of  my  own,  compounded  of  many  simples,  extracted 
from  many  objects  :  and,  indeed,  the  sundry  contemplation 
of  my  travels,  in  which  my  often  rumination  wraps  me,  is  a 
most  humorous  sadness." — Shakspeare. 

The  only  spot  on  earth  to  which  my  memory 
turns  with  that  peculiar  feeling  which  they  alone 
can  appreciate  who  can  remember  the  cot  where 
they  were  born,  is  the  little  village  of  Tor-Q.uay, 
in  Devonshire.  But  it  was  not  where  I  was 
born :  all  I  can  recollect  of  the  place  of  my  na- 
tivity is,  a  very  large,  dark-looking  room,  and  a 
very  large,  black-looking  chimneypiece.  Chil- 
dren always  imagine  every  object  much  larger 
than  it  really  is,  and  generally  much  brighter: 
it  appears  I  was  an  exception  to  the  latter  sup- 
position.    I  remember  no  little  window 


.Nor 


"  Where  the  sun  came  peeping  in  at  morn  ;" 
"  Fir-trees  close  against  the  sky," 


as  Hood  says  so  prettily ;  nothing  but  the  large, 
dark  room,  and  large,  black  chimneypiece:  per- 
haps a  sad  prognostic  of  my  future  fortunes. 

The  local  inhabitants  of  this  insignificant  lit- 
tle village — it  was  so  then,  and  I  suppose  is  so 
now — were  fishermen,  pilots,  and  boatbuilders; 
a  simple,  industrious,  kind-hearted  people.  How 
often  have  the  little  shoeless  urchins  slyly  thrust 
me  a  slice  of  their  dark-brown  bread  through 
the  trellis-work  of  the  flower-garden,  in  front  of 
the  house  ;  and  many  a  weather-beaten  handful 
of  forbidden  fruit  has  been  dropped  into  the 
ready  pin-a'-fore  of  "  Master  Joe,"  and  devoured 
with  ecstasy  in  the  most  private  place  on  the 
premises. 

The  county  of  Devon  is  called,  and  justly  so, 
the  garden  of  England.  Climate  gives  charac- 
ter to  all  animals,  and  in  that  calm,  yet  genial 
spot,  where,  in  the  open  air,  the  simple  jessamine 
;  twines  its  perfumed  tendrils  amid  the  dazzling 


beauties  of  the  passion-flower,  the  blood  so 
smoothly  flows  to  work  its  task  of  life,  that 
man's  nature  partakes  of  the  serenitude  of  the 
atmosphere,  and  all  is  health,  and  peace,  and 
calm  content. 

At  the  period  to  which  I  allude  (I  shall  pur- 
posely avoid  all  useless  dates)  Tar-Bay  was  the 
chosen  rendezvous  of  the  Channel  fleet.  The 
satirical  couplet  of 

"  Lord  Howe  he  went  out, 
And,  lord !  how  he  came  in," 

would  have  been  equally  applicable  to  the  fleet 
then  under  the  command  of  Earl  St.  Vincent, 
but  that  the  Saint  precluded  the  pun.  Adverse 
winds,  in  that  most  adverse  channel,  and  the 
nothing-to-do-duty  this  then  terror  of  the  ocean 
had  to  perform,  made  even  mooring  and  un- 
mooring a  precautionary  employment,  for  thou- 
sands of  men  to  be  kept  in  subordination  literal- 
ly by  one:  all  old  man-o'-ivars  men  know  it  is 
safe  policy  never  to  let  Jack  have  time  to  think 
of  anything  but  his  duty.  Frequently  the  fleet 
would  be  in  harbour  two  and  three  weeks  at  a 
time,  diverting  the  people  with  cleaning,  paint- 
ing, polishing,  and  punishing;  then  to  sea  for  a 
like  period,  and  into  port  again. 

The  beauty  of  the  climate,  the  facilities  for 
sea-bathing,  and  the  joy  which  every  sailor  feels 
at  being  surrounded  by  "  wife,  children,  and 
friends,"  induced  many  of  the  superior  officers 
to  hire  the  better  sort  of  houses  which  could  be 
procured,  or  build  slight  compact  ones  for  the 
accommodation  of  their  families.  In  a  large 
fleet,  caipenters,  masons,  mechanics  of  all  sorts, 
and  labourers  by  hundreds,  are  readily  obtained ; 
houses  were  built,  furnished,  and  occupied  as  if 
by  magic,  and  the  country,  for  miles  around,  be- 
ing thickly  studded  with  the  rural  residences  of 
the  nobility  and  gentry,  Tor-Quay,  at  that  time, 
became  suddenly  the  most  exclusively  fashion- 
able watering-place  in  the  kingdom. 

In  a  small,  neat  house,  fitted  up  in  elegant 
simplicity,  situated  on  a  gentle  ascent  from  the 
beach,  and  overlooking  the  whole  harbour,  lived 
my  protectress — my  more  than  mother.  Here, 
loving  and  beloved,  I  passed  three  innocently 
happy  years. 

The  arrival  of  the  fleet  was  the  signal  for  joy 
and  festivity;  sailing-matches,  boat-clubs,  pony 
races,  banquets,  balls,  and  concerts  occupied  a 
portion  of  each  day  and  evening.  In  compli- 
ment to  Earl  St.  Vincent,  on  his  birthday  a 
more  than  usually  splendid  festival  was  given  at 
Carey  Sands,  a  country  seat  a  few  miles  dis- 
tant from  our  house,  and  "  the  children,"  indul- 
ged in  everything  (which  health  and  morals 
would  permit),  were  allowed  to  see  the  com- 


s 


THIRTY   YEARS 


mencenient  of  a  masked  ball,  walk  through  the 
rooms,  and  return  early  home.  Here  I  first  saw 
Lord  Nelson,  a  mean-looking  little  man,  but 
very  kind  and  agreeable  to  children;  he  prophe- 
sied a  very  different  fate  for  me  from  what  it  has 
been,  and  some  trifling  anecdotes  of  himself, 
which  he  probably  invented  to  please  a  boy, 
made  so  strong  an  impression  on  my  mind  as 
greatly  to  influence  my  conduct  while  in  the 
navy. 

A  spacious  hall,  fitted  up  as  a  theatre,  attract- 
ed our  particlar  notice.  As  I  afterward  learned, 
a  company  of  players,  from  the  adjacent  town 
of  Totness,  were  engaged  to  give  two  or  three 
exhibitions,  the  festival  lasting  a  week.  The 
fireworks,  ox-roastings,  balls,  and  concerts  were 
all  described  and  explained  to  us,  and  all  per- 
fectly understood,  excepting  the  play,  and  that 
Avas  incomprehensible.  To  satisfy  our  tortured 
curiosity,  this  angel  woman  (her  name  is  too 
sacred  to  be  put  on  record  with  the  adventures 
of  a  poor  player)  actually  engaged  a  portion  of 
the  company  to  give  an  entertainment  at  our 
house  to  please  the  children.  Shrink  not,  ye  props 
and  ornaments  of  the  profession,  when  I  tell  you 
you  have  often,  perhaps  without  thinking  it,  been 
placed  in  the  same  position.  How  frequently 
have  I  heard  a  fond  parent  say,  "  If  you  are 
good  children,  I'll  take  you  to  see  Kean,  or  For- 
rest, or  Macready."  For  my  own  part,  many  a 
time  has  some  fat-headed  patron  of  the  drama 
said,  "  Cowell,  my  boy,  I'm  going  to  take  my 
little  girls  to  see  your  Crack  to  night,  so  do  your 
best." 

The  day,  big  with  fate,  at  length  arrived,  and 
"  the  best  actors  in  the  world" — I  think  four  in 
number.  One  didn't  speak,  but  merely  rung  a 
little  bell,  and  snuffed  the  candles,  and  when  he 
put  one  out  we  all  laughed,  and  he  made  a  very 
formal  bow ;  he  was  a  comical-looking  creature, 
dressed  in  large,  white  Turkish  trousers  and  a 
footman's  jacket.  Preparations  immediately 
commenced;  the  dining  parlour  was  speedily 
unfurnished,  and  the  adjoining  room  "  thrown 
into  one,"  that  is,  as  far  as  wide-opening  a  com- 
mon-sized door  could  make  two  rooms  into  one. 
Chairs,  sofas,  and  ottomans  were  placed  in 
rows,  and  elevated,  in  the  back  apartment,  where 
the  servants  and  humble  neighbours  were  to  be 
accommodated,  to  peep  through  the  open  door 
over  our  heads.  All  the  flat  candlesticks  in  the 
house  were  put  in  aline,  in  front  of  the  seats  intend- 
ed for  the  family,  and  separated  from  them  by  a 
long  board  nailed  on  edge.  How  well  do  I  re- 
member with  what  wonder  and  admiration  I 
looked  on  at  the  adroit  manner  in  which,  signal 
Jacks,  ensigns,  and  blue-peters,  window  and  bed 
curtains,  were  furled,  puckered,  tacked,  and  tied, 
by  a  slim,  long-nosed  young  gentleman,  in  shirt- 
sleeves, knee-breeches,  and  blue  worsted  stock- 
ings, to  form  the  wings  and  drops  of  this  mimic 
stage!  At  length  all  was  completed — the  per- 
formance was  to  commence  "  at  early  candle- 
light :"  never  do  I  recollect  so  long  an  afternoon 
as  that  was  but  once  since,  and  that  was,  five 
hours  passed  in  a  sponging-house  waiting  for 
bail.  At  length  the  day  drew  in,  "  and  night, 
the  lover's  friend,"  advanced;  the  bell  was  rung, 
and  the  seats  in  the  rear  immediately  occupied, 
according  to  the  age  and  grade  of  the  party. 
We  were  placed  in  front,  the  governess  at  our 
backs,  ready  to  explain  any  doubtful  point,  and 
direct  our  deportment:  our  general  instructions 
were,  to  clap  our  hands  when  she  did,  and  not 
to  laugh;  this  latter  command  I  made  up  my 


mind  to  disobey ;  and  I  did.  To  her  supposed 
superior  judgment  in  juvenile  matters  had  been 
left  the  control  of  the  entertainment,  and  she  had 
selected  "  Hamlet"  (only  a  portion  of  the  trage- 
dy, I  suppose),  but  whether  to  suit  her  own 
taste,  or  her  pupils,  I  can  only  imagine.  She 
was  a  romantic  little  body.  She  hated  me  with, 
all  her  heart,  but  was  too  prudent  to  say  so ; 
and  I  hated  her  with  all  my  soul,  and  said  so  to 
everybody.  She  had  a  very  pretty,  ill-natured 
looking  face,  and  small  neat  figure,  in  despite  of 
one  very  crooked  leg ;  this  fact  I  discovered  in 
consequence  of  her  tumbling,  head  foremost, 
over  a  stile  one  slippery  day  ;  and  for  laughing 
most  heartily — who  could  help  it  1 — I  was  locked 
up  in  a  cupboard,  at  the  door  of  which  I  kicked 
so  lustily  for  half  an  hour,  they  were  obliged  to 
let  me  out,  "  /  made  such  a  noise  J"* 

I  forget  if  there  was  any  overture,  or  an  apol- 
ogy for  one  in  any  way ;  but  music,  from  my 
infancy,  being  as  familiar  as  a  household  god, 
it  was  not  likely  to  live  in  my  memory,  I  sup- 
pose they  began  the  play  where  Horatio  informs 
Hamlet  of  his  "last  night  of  all"  adventure,  for 
I  recollect  nothing  preceding  that  dialogue,  which 
I  was  astonished  to  find  I  had  often  read  in  that 
excellent  book  for  children, "  Enfield's  Speaker." 
I  love  that  book  still ;  it  gave  me  the  first  relish 
for  more  substantial  food,  and  if  I  can  sell  this, 
I'll  buy  a  copy  for  my  grandson.  Presently  the 
Ghost  glided  in  from  behind  a  French  flag — there 
was  one  on  each  side  of  the  room,  with  the  Eng- 
lish ensign  over  it — enveloped  in  a  white  sheet, 
something  white  on  his  head,  his  face  white- 
washed, and  a  white  truncheon  in  his  hand.  All 
was  breathless  attention  ;  but,  before  he  had 
time  to  reply  to  Hamlet's  earnest  inquiries,  I. 
shouted  out,  with  all  my  might,  "  That's  the  man, 
who  nailed  up  the  flags!"  For,  in  defiance  of 
his  white-all-over-ness,  I  recognised  in  the  Ghost 
my  friend  in  the  knee-breeches,  for  whom  I  had 
held  the  hammer,  and  helped  so  nicely  (as  he 
said)  in  the  morning.  The  governess  gave  me 
one  of  her  withering  looks,  but  all  the  rest  of  the 
audience  laughed  most  heartily ;  so  did  Hamlet, 
so  did  the  Ghost,  till  his  white  sheet  shook  again. 

Hamlet — "  methinks  I  see  him  now" — was  a 
slim,  round-faced,  good-looking  young  man,  and, 
I  imagine,  rather  effeminate  in  his  manner;  for 
all  agreed  he  was  very  like  our  very  pretty  house- 
maid Sally.  He  was  dressed  in  a  suit  of  mod- 
ern black,  a  frill  about  his  neck,  with  a  silver 
cord  and  tassel,  his  head  powdered  (the  fashion 
of  the  time);  a  spangled  red  cloak  ;  the  order  of 
the  garter  around  his  leg;  a  broad-brimmed, 
black  velvet  hat,  turned  up  in  front,  and  a  large 
diamond  shoe-buckle,  supposed  to  enclasp  one 
tall,  white  feather.  But  Horatio  had  five  (we 
all  counted  them);  his  waistcoat,  too,  was  near- 
ly covered  with  gold,  and  his  clcak  was  spangled 
all  over ;  he  wore  light  blue  pantaloons,  and  red 
shoes — I  forget  the  colour  of  his  hat.  He  was 
decidedly  my  favourite,  and  I  believe  the  favour- 
ite of  all;  at  any  rate,  the  children  and  servants 
thought  as  I  did,  that  lie  was  worth  all  the  rest  of 
them  put  together;  besides,  "in  the  course  of  the 
evening,"  he  sung  a  fine  loud  song,  about  ships 
and  the  navy,  and  danced  a  sailor's  hornpipe; 
but  whether  they  were  introduced  in  the  tragedy 
or  after  it,  I  know  not.  He  appeared  to  have 
twice  as  much  to  say  as  Hamlet  had,  and  what 
he  did  say  he  said  three  times  as  loud ;  all  the 


*  I  cannot  but  regret  these  delightful  visions  of  my  child- 
hood, which,  like  the  fine  colours  we  see  when  our  eyes 
are  shut,  are  vanished  forever. — Alexander  Pope. 


PASSED   AMONG   THE   PLAYERS. 


9 


auditors  in  the  next  room  could  hear  every  word 
he  uttered  ;  and,  as  more  than  halt' could  not  see 
him  through  the  open  door,  it  was  quite  enough 
to  make  him  a  great  favourite  in  their  estima- 
tion. The  coachman  said  he  heard  one  speech 
while  he  was  feeding  the  horses;  and  the  stable 
was  at  least  one  hundred  yards  from  the  house; 
no  doubt  the  same  speech  which  frightened  two 
of  the  youngest  children.  They  cried,  and,  at 
their  own  request,  were  sent  to  bed. 

Hamlet  made  several  long  soliloquies,  and  as 
he  looked  me  straight  in  the  face,  I  thought  he 
addressed  me  in  particular ;  so  when  he  inquired, 

"Whether  'tis  nobler  in  the  mind  to  suffer 
The  slinks  and  arrows  of  outrageous  fortune, 
Or  to  take  arms  against  a  sea  of  troubles — " 

I  replied,  "If  I  were  you  I'd  go  to  sea."  This 
called  forth  a  most  joyous  shout  from  the  next 
room,  for  even  then  I  was  the  low-comedian  of 
the  household  ;  but  my  female  Mentor  said  I 
was  a  very  bad  boy  (I  was  used  to  her  saying 
that),  and  if  I  spoke  again  I  should  be  sent  to 
bed.  So  when  I  thought  Hamlet  was  going  to 
make  me  another  long  speech,  I  shut  my  eyes, 
and  made  up  my  mind  to  go  to  sleep  till  it  was 
over.  But  my  friend  Horatio  soon  roused  me. 
In  fact,  he  was  one  of  the  many  actors  who  are 
determined  to  be  heard,  at  any  rate;  and  "tired 
Nature"  must  be  very  tired  indeed  if  she  could 
take  her  "second  course"  while  he  was  declaim- 
ing. I  have  met  with  man)'  Horalios  since,  and 
they,  like  my  first  impression,  are  always  great 
favourites  with  children  and  the  uninformed. 
There  was  a  star  Horatio  engaged  in  the  last 
company  I  played  with,  and  nine  tenths  of  the 
audience  thought  and  said  he  was  a  very  fine 
actor.  Well,  let  them  think  so  ;  I'll  not  contra- 
dict them ;  I  was  sorry  myself  when  I  was  un- 
deceived. 

Hamlet  spoke  Collins's  beautiful  "  Ode  an  the 
Passions;"  he  didn't  deliver  it  as  the  governess 
read  it;  I  thought  then  he  was  right  and  she 
was  wrong:  I  have  changed  my  opinion  since. 
The  Ghost  sang  a  comic  song,  and  the  whole 
party 

"  Ye  mariners  of  England," 

the  cnndle-snuffer  giving  his  "powerful  aid"  in 
the  chorus. 

Exhausted  with  wonder  and  delight,  I  went  to 
bed.  I  prayed  every  night  that  I  might  be  made 
a  good  boy  and  go  to  heaven.  I  fell  asleep,  and 
dreamed  that  I  had  got  there,  and  was  surround- 
ed by  dozens  of  Hamlets,  and  Horatios,  and 
Ghosts  in  red  wigs  and  striped  stockings,  dan- 
cing, and  singing  "all  manner  of  songs,"  and  the 
angels  applauding  them  in  the  most  boisterous 
manner;  but  when  I  waked,  I  didn't  "cry  to 
dream  again,"  for,  to  my  astonishment,  I  heard 
Horatio  singing  away  with  all  his  might  in  the 
housekeeper's  room,  amid  clapping  of  hands 
and  shouts  of  laughter. 

Before  I  closed  my  eyes  again  that  night,  I 
made  up  my  mind  that  I  would  rather  be  that 
Horatio,  and  do  "all  that,"  than  be  Horatio  Nel- 
son, though  he  had  lost  an  eye,  and  banged  the 
French. 

"  Where  then  did  the  Raven  go  ? 
He  went  high  and  low  ; 
Over  hill,  over  dale,  did  the  black  Raven  go. 
Many  autumns,  many  springs, 
TraveU'd  he  with  wandering  wings  ; 
Many  summers,  many  winters — 
I  sAa'n'i  tell  half  his  adventures." 

Coleridge. 


CHAPTER  III. 

"  Truly,  in  my  youth  I  suffered  much  extremity  for  love." 
— Shakspeare. 

I  was  just  "  turned  sixteen,"  as  the  children, 
say,  but  in  manner  and  appearance  much  older. 
Three  years  in  the  navy,  the  usual  hardships  of 
a  sailor's  life,  a  complexion  stained  with  salt 
water  and  the  sun  of  many  climes,  are  materials 
to  make  boys  into  men  at  very  short  notice.  I 
had  three  weeks'  leave  of  absence,  prior  to  a 
twelve  months'  cruise  on  the  West  India  sta- 
tion. My  mother  lived  next  door  to  Grosvenor 
Chapel :  and  on  Sunday  morning,  determining 
to  see  all  that  could  be  seen  (as  my  days  were 
numbered),  I  "dropped  in"  to  witness  the  service. 
In  using  Paul  Pry's  flippant  expression,  I  must 
not  now,  nor  then,  be  understood  to  have  any  but 
the  most  profound  respect  for  all  religious  cere- 
monies; but,  having  been  educated  a  rigid  Ro- 
man Catholic,  at  that  period  my  entering  an 
Episcopal  house  of  God  was  induced  by  pure 
curiosity.  In  the  adjoining  pew  sat  an  elderly, 
tradesmanlike-looking  man,  with  a  pug  nose, 
and  a  round,  unmeaning  face,  resembling  alto- 
gether a  very  good-natured  bulldog;  with  him 
a  plump  old  lady,  and  an  elegantly-dressed, 
young  creature — their  daughter,  of  course  ;  but 
where  could  she  get  such  an  abominable,  ple- 
beian-looking father  and  mother]  I  felt  angry 
that  nature  had  made  herself  so  ridiculous.  She 
was  most  beautiful,  refined  in  her  deportment, 
and  a  perfectly  aristocratic  face.  Her  fine  eye, 
I  thought,  sometimes  wandered  towards  me;  a 
naval  uniform,  in  those  days,  was  quite  as  at- 
tractive as  a  soldier's  is  in  these ;  she  sat  close 
to  me,  nothing  but  the  abominable  bulkhead  of 
the  pew  between  us, 

"  Where  she  kneel'd,  and,  saint-like, 
Cast  her  fair  eyes  to  heaven,  and  pray'd  devoutly." 

An  angel's  whisper !  there  is  no  preaching  I 
ever  heard  can  produce  on  my  mind  such  a  pure 
devotional  feeling  as  listening  to  little  children 
and  pretty  women  saying  their  prayers ;  I  al- 
ways want  to  go  to  heaven  along  with  them  di- 
rectly. I  thought  I  heard  her  sigh.  Our  eyes 
met  as  she  said  Amen ;  my  heart  palpitated,  and 
"  Amen  stuck  in  my  throat."  I  had  been  in  love 
two  or  three  times  before,  and  have  been  in  love 
ever  since,  and  perfectly  understood  all  the  symp- 
toms; but,  as  Ollapod  says,  there  were  "matri- 
monial symptoms  in  this  case."  In  my  own 
mind,  I  had  got  the  consent  of  my  mother  (who 
could  refuse  to  permit  a  union  with  such  a  di- 
vinity1?), and  had  retired,  on  a  British  midship- 
man's half  pay,  to  a  "  cottage  near  a  wood,"  with 
a  cow,  cabbage-garden,  chickens,  and  children. 
The  only  impediment  that  appeared  to  cross  my 
path  to  pre-eminent  felicity  was  her  pudding- 
faced,  pug-nosed  parents;  my  mother  would  de- 
cidedly object  to  them,  whatever  she  might  think 
of  their  daughter.  In  my  confusion  of  thought, 
I  stood  up  in  the  pew,  and  popped  on  my  hat 
with  the  cockade  behind  ;  the  old  gentleman 
pointed  out  my  error;  I  thought  I  saw  a  child- 
like giggle  play  over  the  beautiful  face  of  my 
adored;  I  would  have  given  two  years'  pay  to 
be  shot  on  the  spot,  or  tossed  overboard  in  a  gala 
of  wind,  or  mast-headed,  out  of  sight  of  land  or 
petticoats,  for  the  rest  of  my  life.  The  service 
ended,  I  gained  the  door  as  they  did,  and  tender- 
ed an  awkward  acknowledgment  of  thanks  to  the 
old  man  for  correcting  my  ridiculous  position. 

"  Sir,"  said  he,  with  a  plethoric  kind  of  chuckle, 
"  you  gentlemen  of  the  navy,  sir,  don't  often  go 


10 


THIRTY   YEARS 


to  church,  I  suppose,  sir ;  but,  sir,  I  love  a  sail- 
or, sir;  I'm  a  loyal  subject,  sir;  God  bless  the 
king,  sir,  and  God  Almighty  bless  the  queen, 
sir.  She,  sir,  is,  sir,  the  mother,  sir — that  is,  the 
queen-mother,  sir— and  I'm  blessed,  sir,  if  she 
oughtened  to  be  blessed,  sir,  for  blessing  the 
country,  sir,  with  such  a  blessed  lot  of  royal 
highnesses,  sir.  Sir,  I'm  a  true-born  English- 
man, and  a  loyal  subject,  sir,  and  have  the  hon- 
our to  be  leather-breeches-maker,  sir,  to  His  Roy- 
al Highness  the  Duke  of  Sussex,  sir,"  pointing, 
at  the  same  time,  to  a  sign  over  a  bow-window, 
by  the  side  of  which  he  stopped,  and  rung  a  bell 
at  the  private  entrance.  The  door  was  opened 
by  a  boy  in  undress  livery;  we  bowed  and  part- 
ed. I  looked  up.  Sure  enough,  there  was  "  the 
precious  evidence,"  "  William  (I  think)  Creek, 
Tailor  and  Breec/ies-maker  in  ordinary  to  His 
Royal  Highness  tlie  Duke  of  Sussex"  in  green  and 
gold  letters,  and  the  King's  Arms  in  a  semicircle 
over  it,  exactly  lour  doors  from  my  mother's 
house.  I  had  followed  my  charmer  (who  was 
on  the  outside)  at  an  angular  distance  of  about 
three  feet,  sometimes  on  the  curbstone,  some- 
times in  the  gutter,  or,  as  a  sailor  might  say, 
about  two  points  to  leeward.  Now  this  was  not 
mauvaise  honte  on  my  part,  but  prudence;  for, 
upon  coming  alongside  in  the  first  instance,  I 
found,  to  my  astonishment,  she  was  at  least 
three  inches  taller  than  myself.  In  everyday 
language,  she  was  what  is  called  a  magnificent 
creature, 

"  With  beauty  too  rich  for  use,  for  earth  too  dear ;" 

a  very  effeminate,  Miss  Clifton  style  of  woman. 
Over  her  sculptured  form  she  had  thrown  a 
splendid  scarlet  mantle,  trimmed  with  white  er- 
mine ;  a  white  hat,  with  a  drooping  red  leather, 
adorned  her  classic  head.  I  am  still,  and  for 
years  have  been,  allowed  to  possess  great  taste 
for  ladies'  dress,  but  at  the  time  I  speak  of,  per- 
haps, it  was  a  little  Goldfinch-ish :  "  Sky-blue 
habit,  scarlet  sash,  white  hat,  yellow  ribands, 
gold  band  and  tassel — that's  your  sort !" 
I  was  in  love — most  horribly  in  love — 

"  'Twas  through  my  eyes  the  shaft  had  pierced  my  heart ; 
Chance  gave  the  wound  that  time  could  never  cure." 

But  she  was  (oh  horrible  thought!)  the  daughter 
of  a  leather-breeches  builder,  and  my  mother, 
like  Rob  Roy,  had  "  an  utter  contempt  for  weav- 
ers, and  spinners,  and  all  such  mechanical  per- 
sons." But  then  he  made  breeches  for  His  Roy- 
al Highness  the  Duke  of  Sussex  !  how  might 
that  soften  down  the  bowels  of  aristocratic  au- 
thority ?  There  was  hope  in  that  thought,  and  I 
determined  to  be  measured  for  a  pair  the  next 
day  :  though  I  had  but  little  time  to  wear  them ; 
for,  on  the  station  to  which  I  was  ordered,  even 
if  the  service  would  permit  the  costume,  the  cli- 
mate would  not. 

On  the  following  morning  I  called  on  Mr. 
Creek. 

"  Sir,  he's  at  breakfast,  sir,"  said  the  knock- 
kneed  boy  in  the  gray  livery  I  had  noticed  the 
day  before;  "but,  sir,  if 'tis  anything  partic'lar, 
sir,  I'll  call  him,  sir." 

"Do  so,  sir;  I  wish,  sir,  to  see  him,  sir,  di- 
rectly, sir,"  said  I,  following  the  sir-ish  fashion. 

The  bow-window  apartment  I  had  entered 
was  covered  with  a  handsome  carpet ;  in  the 
centre  a  billiard-like  table,  on  which  were  wri- 
ting materials,  and  the  papers  of  the  day ;  and 
the  walls  decorated  with  numerous  mirrors.  My 
prospect  of  consent  began  to  brighten.  If  he  was 
ji  breeches-maker,  he  didn't  breakfast  till  ten 


o'clock,  and  kept  a  sort  of  livery-servant.  I  had 
barely  time  to  think  so  much,  and  peep  through 
a  glass  case,  the  width  of  the  shop,  covered  with 
a  demi-transparent  green  curtain,  behind  which 
at  least  thirty  men  were  employed  on  a  platform, 
stitching  away  at  his  royal  highness's  small- 
clothes, I  suppose — when  Mr.  Creek  appeared. 
His  fat  face  was  buttered  from  ear  to  ear,  which 
he  proceeded  to  wipe  with  his  folded  handker- 
chief, while  in  his  peculiar  style  he  paid  me  the 
compliments  of  the  day.  When  he  came  to  a 
pause,  I  begged  him,  in  my  most  urbane  man- 
ner, to  measure  me  for  a  suit  of  clothes. 

"  Sir,  with  pleasure,  sir.  A  uniform  suit,  of 
course,  sir?  I  pride  myself  on  my  uniform  fits, 
sir.     This  coat  is  a  little  too  much — " 

I  interrupted,  no  doubt,  a  learned  lecture  on 
what  a  uniform  coat  should  be,  by  quietly  say- 
ing, "  I  wish  a  plain  suit,  Mr.  Creek." 

"A  plain  suit,  sir  1  Bless  me,  sir!  have  you 
left  your  ship  for  any  length  of  time,  sir?" 

"  I  may  shortly  leave  the  navy  altogether," 
said  I,  with  a  sigh.  I  thought  of  the  cottage 
and  the  cow ;  and  as  my  mother  cheerfully  paid 
my  bills  at  that  time,  and  might  not  after  I  had 
retired  from  the  service  and  married  the  tailor's 
daughter,  prudence  prompted  me  to  order  a  green 
coat,  red  waistcoat,  and  leather  breeches — a  very 
fitting  dress  for  rural  felicity.  The  red  vest  I 
ordered  in  compliment  to  the  colour  of  my  wife's 
cloak — that  was  to  be ;  and  I  hinted,  that  if  it 
could  be  made  off  the  same  piece  of  cloth  that 
his  daughter's  mantle  was  composed  of,  I  should 
prize  it  more  highly.  I  imagined  it  was  cabbage 
on  an  extensive  scale. 

"  Oh,  sir,"  said  the  old  man,  his  little  blue  eyes 
twinkling  on  either  side  of  his  bit  of  putty-like 
nose,  "  she's  not  my  daughter.     I — " 

"God  be  praised!"  exclaimed  I,  not  waiting 
for  his  "  wish  she  was"  conclusion  of  his  sentence, 
I  suppose. 

"  Sir !"  said  he,  his  face  suddenly  assuming 
an  expression  of  gravity  which  its  fat-encumber- 
ed muscles  seemed  impossible  for  it  to  achieve, 
"  sir — I  beg  pardon,  sir — but  I  should  like  to 
know,  sir,  why  you  should  appear  so  thankful, 
sir,  that  Anna  is  not  my  daughter,  sir?" 

Anna!  I  heard  her  name  for  the  first  time* 
a  pastoral,  poetical,  and  pretty  name — a  real  sail- 
or's name : 

"  I  call  her  Anna,  Anne, 
Nan,  Nance,  or  Nancy." 

1  blundered  out,  that  I  had  thanked  God  that, 
in  addition  to  her  natural  protector,  she  had  a 
friend  of  his  age  and  respectability  to  guide  her 
moral  deportment,  of  which  I  judged  from  the 
sacred  place  to  which  he  had  conducted  her 
when  we  first  met.  A  shade  of  doubt  passed  over 
his  countenance;  but  he  recollected  I  was  his 
customer,  and  his  natural  good- humour  and 
common  sense  prevailed.  In  his  own  way,  he 
went  on  to  explain  that  Anna  had  no  faiher ;  he 
had  died  when  she  was  an  infant,  and  had  left 
her  mother  "well  to  do  in  the  world,"  with  three 
children,  all  girls,  two  much  older  than  Anna, 
and  one  long  since  married  to  a  cousin  of  his 

wife.     She  was  a  native  of ,  in  Berkshire; 

at  her  father's  death,  her  mother  had  taken  a 
milliner's  shop,  where  Anna  had  learned  the  ru- 
diments of  the  business,  but  had  been  sent  to 
London  under  his  care,  and  was  now  articled 
for  three  years  (two  and  a  half  of  which  were 
yet  to  stretch  their  slow  length  along)  to  the 
Misses  Twicross,  the  celebrated  dressmakers 


PASSED   AMONG   THE    PLAYERS. 


11 


in  Bond-street,  with  a  premium  of  fifty  guineas, 
to  be  finished,  as  he  called  it. 

Upon  giving  my  name  and  address,  the  old 
man  exclaimed,  "Why,  bless  me,  sir!  I  have, 
sir,  the  honour,  sir,  to  be  in  great  favour  with 
your  mamma,  sir;  my  neighbour,  sir;  and,  you 
know,  sir,  it's  very  few  people  as  is,  sir — "  with 
a  kind  of  confidential  chuckle.  "You  see,  sir, 
her  kitchen-chimney  was  on  fire,  sir,  and  the 
maid-servants  set  up  a  terrible  screeching,  sir; 
and  there  was  so  much  smoke,  sir,  that  you 
could  not  see  where  the  fire  was,  sir;  and  the 
parish  engine,  sir,  being  in  the  basement  story 
of  the  chapel,  sir,  next  house  to  hers,  sir,  as  one 
may  say,  sir;  I,  sir,  and  my  boy,  sir,  and  the 
poor  apple-woman,  sir,  that  she  kindly  gives 
leave,  sir,  to  sit  at  the  corner  of  the  court,  sir, 
pulled  it  out,  sir,  and  I  dragged  the  hose  into  the 
passage,  sir;  but  the  fire  went  out,  sir,  before 
we  could  get  any  water,  sir;  but  your  good 
mamma,  sir,  coming  down  stairs,  sir,  and  seeing 
me  with  the  brass  nozzle  in  my  hand,  sir,  thought 
I  had  extinguished  it,  sir;  and  so,  sir,  whenever 
she  speaks  of  me,  sir,  she  always  says, '  The  good 
man  that  saved  my  property  by  putting  out  the  fire 
— Mr. — lohat's  his  name  ?  something  that  puts  my 
teeth  on  edge  ?'  '  Mr.  Creek,  ma'am,'  savs  Mary. 
'Tea,  Mr~:  Squeak  — that's  it.'"  The 'jolly  old 
man  chatted  himself  into  a  most  familiar  good- 
humour.  I  recounted  some  of  my  ship-shape 
adventures,  and,  well  pleased  with  each  other, 
we  parted,  with  my  promising  (oh,  how  gladly !) 
to  take  a  cup  of  tea  with  himself  and  wife,  and 
Anna,  "just  in  the  family-way,"  that  evening. 
lam  not  going  to  tantalize  my  readers  with  a 
rodomontade  of  love-making ;  suffice  it  to  say, 
Anna  had  received  an  education  far  above  her 
station :  affable,  nay,  even  free  in  her  manner, 
"than  those  who  have  more  cunning  to  be 
strange,"  but  with  a  mind  as  simply  pure  and 
unpolluted  as  the  stream  that  wanders  through 
and  adorns  her  native  village.  I  readily  obtained 
permission,  to  save  Mr.  Creek  the  trouble,  of 
conducting  her  to  Bond-street  in  the  morning. 
The  jovial  old  tailor  had  made  us  stand  back  to 
back,  to  decide  our  height;  and  he  declared, 
<(Anna,  sir,  is  only  an  inch  taller,  sir,  than  you 
are,  sir — good  measure,  sir."  When,  at  an  early 
hour  the  next  day,  we  met,  I  had  heels  to  my 
boots  that  placed  me  on  a  level  with  her  at  any 
Tate  ;  and,  before  we  had  crossed  Grosvenor 
Square,  I  had  good  reason  to  believe  that  our 
hopes  and  wishes  were  more  on  an  equality  than 
our  persons.  Doubt  not  I  was  most  punctual 
in  my  attendance  to  and  from  South  Audley- 
street  to  Bond-street.  Three  times  that  week, 
and  four  the  next,  accompanied  by  the  old  peo- 
ple, we  attended  the  theatre.  The  first  legiti- 
mate play  I  ever  beheld  Anna  sat  beside  me — 
'twas  Romeo  and  Juliet.  "They  must  have 
played  it  on  purpose,"  said  the  innocent  Anna, 
in  a  whisper,  and  her  cheek  wet  with  tears;  and 
I,  in  my  heart,  damned  the  author  for  not  letting 
them  live  and  be  happy. 

Charles  Kemble  was  the  Romeo — the  great 
Lewis,  Mercutio — Miss  Norton,  Juliet — la,  la 
(but  I  never  saw  a  Juliet  such  as  Shakspeare 
intended)  —  the  glorious  Mrs.  Davenport,  the 
Nurse  —  and  Murray,  the  silver-toned,  serene, 
and  beautifully-natural  Charles  Murray,  was 
the  lovers'  friend,  the  botanical  Friar  Lawrence. 
1  passed  two  whole,  dear,  delicious  Sundays  in 
her  society.     Oh  how  sweet 

"  To  walk  together  to  the  kirk, 
And  all  together  pray  !" 


I  spoke  not  of  my  difference  of  creed,  for,  for  her 
sake,  I  would  have  turned  Turk. 

The  old  man  was  our  confidant  and  council- 
lor. "Sir,  you  must  join  your  ship,  sir,  at  the 
proper  time,  sir;  and  Anna,  sir,  must  finish  her 
time  with  the  Misses  Twicross's,  sir,  and  get  the 
worth  of  her  fifty  guineas,  sir ;  and  you  must 
fight  the  enemies  of  Old  England  !  Oh  !  I'm  a 
loyal  subject,  sir;  and  when  you're  a  lieutenant, 
sir,  and  the  old  lady  won't  consent,  sir,  if  you 
both,  sir,  think,  sir,  as  you  do  now,  sir,  and 
there  should  come  a  peace,  sir,  you'll  get  your 
half  pay,  sir;  you  can  teach  transportation,  nav- 
igation 1  mean,  sir,  and  drawing,  and  painting, 
sir"  (I  had  been  well  instructed,  and  had  taken 
his  and  his  wife's  portraits,  and  Anna's  "picture 
in  little")  ;  "  and  she  will  be  mistress  of  her  art, 
sir;  I  am  well  to  do  in  the  world,  sir;  have  nei- 
ther chick  nor  child;  Anna's  father  was  a  good 
friend  of  mine,  sir — lent  me  money  when  I  first 
went  into  business,  sir;  but  never  fret,  sir;  take 
things  cool,  as  I  do,  sir,"  wiping  the  perspira- 
tion from  his  fat  forehead ;  "  all  will  be  right, 
sir;  take  my  advice,  sir."     I  tvish  to  God  I  had. 

The  fatal  second  Sunday  at  length  arrived — 
I  thought,  in  the  middle  of  the  week.  I  had  to 
set  forth  post,  at  7  P.M.,  to  ensure  my  being  on 
board  by  gunfire  on  Monday  morning;  but  it 
was  past  nine  before  I  could  finish  all  my  oaths 
of  constancy,  and  exchange  those  tokens  sailors 
think  so  sacred. 

With  hope  decking  the  future  in  the  rainbow 
colours  of  love  at  seventeen,  I  rushed  into  the 
chaise,  on  a  bright  autumnal  evening,  and,  faster 
than  the  sun,  I  seemed  to  travel  on  the  same  road 
to  Portsmouth,  to  overtake  him  in  a  few  weeks 
in  the  West  Indies. 

The  tedium  of  many  a  weary  middle-watch 
in  that  sunburned  sea  has  been  relieved  of  its 
monotony  in  (castle-)  building,  the  cottage,  and 
the  cow,  the  chickens  and  the  children ;  and  then, 

"  Look'd  on  the  moon, 
And  thought  of  Nancy." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"  Hope,  thou  hast  told  me  lies  from  day  to  day 
For  nearly  twenty  years." 

Yoiwo. 

With  my  last  shilling  in  my  pocket,  and  my 
heart  pretty  nearly  in  the  same  place,  I  was 
seated  about  the  middle  of  the  high  flight  of  stone 
steps  leading  to  one  of  the  entrances  of  the  dock- 
yards, watching  the  gambols  of  some  boys  ba- 
thing on  the  shore  beneath.  "To  myself  I  said," 
if  I  could  only  take  courage,  and  keep  my  head 
under  water  as  long  as  that  lad  does,  "  in  a  merry 
sport,"  I  might  speedily  end  all  my  troubles,  and 
the  anxiety  of  those  who  still  care  for  and  love 
me. 

The  red  sun  was  dodging  now  and  again  be- 
hind some  fantastical  long  gray  clouds,  and  ap- 
parently descending  with  more  than  usual  rapid- 
ity, as  if  in  derisive  imitation  of  the  friendship  of 
man.  "  Good-by — I'm  sorry  for  your  misfor- 
tunes, but — I'm  in  a  hurry — good-by." 

I  had  arrived  at  Plymouth  Dock  about  three 
weeks  previous  to  this  period,  with  "  time  cut 
from  out  eternity's  wide  round"  before  me,  and 
fifty  pounds  in  my  pocket — an  inexhaustible  sum 
to  my  nineteen  years'  old  experience — probably 
five  guineas  was  the  largest  amount  I  had  ever 
had  in  my  possession  before,  at  one  time,  in  my 


12 


THIRTY    YEARS 


life;  all  my  necessities  had  been  amply  supplied, 
and  every  member  of  a  cockpit  knows  that,  as 
to  money,  "  man  wants  but  little  there  below." 
Young  minds  are  more  easily  depressed  than 
those  which  have  had  long  experience  of  "for- 
tune's buffets  and  rewards;"  my  landlady  at  the 
White  Horse,  who  was  the  gray  mare  of  that 
establishment,  had  that  day  given  me  notice  of 
"  no  liquor  and  no  credit,"  and  two  days  more 
had  elapsed  than  necessary  to  bring  me  an  an- 
swer to  my  letter,  praying  for  positively  the  last 
assistance  1  would  ever  ask  for.  I  had  "  wasted 
myself  out  of  my  means"  in  boarding  every  out- 
ward-bound merchantman,  and  treating  the  cap- 
tains to  "five-pound  suppers  and  after-drink- 
ings,"  to  bribe  my  way  as  a  mate  in  some  craft 
bound  to  any  land,  "  so  not  again  to  mine."  But 
in  those  days  my  finished  theoretical  knowledge 
was  an  impediment  to  a  command  under  these 
prejudiced,  ignorant,  "  petty  traffickers."  The 
British  navy,  with  two  wars  at  her  back,  seized 
upon  all  who  could  be  serviceable,  and  many  a 
three  and  four  hundred  ton  merchant  vessel 
would  go  to  sea  with  a  skipper,  two  mates,  and 
five  or  six  landsmen  or  boys,  to  follow  in  the 
wake  of  a  convoy,  content  with  a  dead  reckoning, 
if  any  at  all,  kept  on  a  black  board  with  a  piece 
of  chalk. 

In  the  frame  of  mind  I  then  was,  I  might,  when 
the  sun  and  little  boys  got  out  of  my  way,  have 
wet  myself  at  any  rate,  but  that  just  as  they  were 
all  preparing  to  depart,  the  arrival  of  a  man-o'- 
war's  boat  immediately  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs 
where  I  was  sitting  formed  a  new  impediment 
to  my  cold-water  experiment.  "A  gross,  fat 
man,"  in  a  warrant  officer's  uniform,  landed,  fol- 
lowed by  a  seaman  bearing  a  large-sized  chest : 
as  he  reached  the  step  on  which  I  sat,  I  rose  to 
let  him  pass  ;  he,  in  a  rough,  authoritative  man- 
ner, exclaimed,  in  a  broad  Scotch  dialect,  "  Od, 
but  it's  queer  what  can  mak  shore  people  sae 
fond  o'  sitting  on  sic  a  gangway  as  this — it's  fu' 
small  way — and  no'  intended  for  ony  but  his 
majesty's  officers  and  sic  like." 

Before  the  conclusion  of  his  rude  address,  I 
had  recognised  him  for  an  old  shipmate ;  our 
eyes  met — he  stood  for  an  instant  the  picture  of 
penitent  astonishment,  and  in  the  next  I  was  half 
crushed  to  death  in  his  ponderous  embrace. 

He  had  been  before  the  mast  of  a  sloop  of  war 
I  belonged  to  for  a  short  time,  and  in  boarding 
a  French  lugger  privateer,  was  wounded  twice, 
and  his  bravery  was  instantly  rewarded  by  ma- 
king him  a  quartermaster,  the  first  step  for  pro- 
motion to  a  warrant.  Our  corvette  was  con- 
demned as  no  longer  seaworthy  on  her  arrival 
at  the  very  port  where  we  now  again  met,  and 
by  accident  he  was  sent  on  board  the  same  ship 
1  was  then  ordered  to  join.  He  had  always 
been  a  great  favourite  with  me,  for,  apart  from 
his  being  a  brave  man  and  a  good  sailor,  his 
childlike  blessing  in  the  hour  of  peril  on  his  old 
father  and  mother  and  his  native  home,  proved 
the  kindness  of  his  nature;  and  though  he  had 
not  seen  either  since  tie  was  a  boy,  his  tongue 
still  retained  as  strong  a  love  for  its  language 
as  his  heart  did  for  its  soil. 

Trinculo  says,  "  Misery  acquaints  a  man  with 
strange  bedfellows:"  it  certainly  levels  all  dis- 
tinctions. Pride  and  poverty  had  so  struggled 
away  the  strength  oi  my  boyish  mind,  that 
even  the  rough  kindness  of  this  weather-beaten 
Scotchman  so  subdued  my  care-devil  nature,  that 
"  tears,  the  heart's  best  balm,"  flowed  in  torrents, 
and  I  sobbed  long  and  loud  in  his  arms;  had  he 


been  my  father,  1  am  sure  I  should  have  felt  as 
I  did  then,  but 

"  I  never  a  father's  protection  knew — 
Never  had  a  father  to  protect." 

"  Dinna  fret  man,  dinna  fret ;  there's  na  use  i' 
fretting — I  ha'  heard  o'  your  scrape.  Deil  scoup 
wi'  the  feller  as  caused  it — he's  an  awsome  body 
that,  and  naebody  su'd  care  till  anger  him — but 
ye  was  a'ways  a  rattling  cheel.  But  ye  ha'  a 
gude  friend  i'  the  admiral,  and  he'll  pass  it  a' 
ower  easy." 

"  He  has  passed  it  over  easy"  said  I :  "he  has 
obtained  my  discharge  by  sick-list,  to  save  me 
from  a  court-martial,  who,  in  its  mercy,  might 
have  condemned  me  to  be  shot.  Damn  the  ser- 
vice !  and  all  that  belongs  to  it." 

"  Nay,  nay,"  said  he,  soothingly,  "  ye  wold  na' 
damn  me?" 

I  could  not  speak — my  heart  felt  as  if  it  had 
overflowed  up  to  my  neck — I  grasped  his  honest 
hand. 

"I  didna'  ken  the  case  was  sae  bad,"  said  he: 
"  let's  say  na  mair  about  it ;  you  must  awa  home 
wi'  me.  Oh,  you  need  na  stare,  I  ha'  got  a  home 
and  a  wile  too — 

"  '  In  every  port  we  find  a  home, 
In  every  home  a  wife,  sir." 

"  Oh,  she's  a  real  wife — I  was  na'  but  bleating 
out  an  auld  snatch  of  a  song  just  to  cheer  ye  up 
like.  Heave  a  head  wi'  the  trunk,  Sieeney — " 
to  the  seaman,  a  long,  red-whiskered  fellow;  a 
countryman,  no  doubt.  "  I  ha'  gotten  a  wee  drib- 
ble o'  Port  wine  in  a  keg  in  it,  whilk  I'm  taken 
right  through  the  yard" — with  an  amateur  smug- 
gler's look — "  so  they  mayna'  suspect  ony  thing  ; 
the  puir  body  at  home  is  fond  of  a  wee  sup,  hot 
wi'  sugar,  aibre  turning  in." 

His  explanation  of  the  contents  of  the  box  was 
supeifluous,  for  I  heard  the  well-known  squish, 
squash,  as  the  man  again  lifted  it  on  his  shoul- 
der. Alter  passing  unmolested  through  the  dock- 
yard, a  few  short  turns  brought  us  to  a  shoe- 
maker's shop;  behind  the  counter  was  a  little 
man  with  wax-ends  and  upper  leather  written  in 
his  face  (what  a  strange  thing  it  is  that  shoe- 
makers always  look  like  shoemakers):  he  was 
employed  in  lighting  a  second  candle,  for  it  was 
then  dark. 

"Awa'  above  wi'  the  prize,  Steeney,  and  tell 
Missus  Mackay,"  with  a  strong  emphasis  on  the 
Missus,  and  a  twinkle  of  his  good-natured  eye  at 
me,  "  tell  Missus  Mackay  to  put  a'  to  rights,  as 
she  ca's  it — I  ha'  gotten  a  gentleman  wi'  me. 
Mr.  Hobblin,"  to  the  shoemaker  ('twas  his  real 
name).  "  this  is  the  gentleman  I  tell'd  ye  of,  as 
got  me  made"  (here  he  gave  me  another  disa- 
bling shake  of  the  hand).  "  I'll  tell  ye  a'  about 
it — and  that'll  gi'  the  auld  woman  time  till  get  a' 
ready  —  she's  a  wee  bit  fussy;  but,  gude  sirr 
gude — take  a  chair — I  can  sit  anywhere,"  poun- 
cing his  ponderous  person  on  a  pile  of  sole 
leather  in  the  corner,  which  his  weight  brought 
immediately  to  within  a  foot  of  the  floor;  "ye 
need  na'  mind,  Master  Hobblin;  no  harm  done; 
it's  got  till  be  hammered,  ony  how.  Weel,  ye 
see,  I  was  on  liberty,  taking  a  cruise  on  the  Holy 
Ground,  as  they  ca'  it ;  if  ye  was  ever  at  Cove  o' 
Cork,  ye  maun  ken,  there's  na  sic  a  place  for 
fun  in  a'  England,  or  Scotland  till  boot — weel,  I 
was  having  a  crack  wi'  an  auld  shipmate  as  be- 
langed  till  the  Yulus—  he  was  braggin'  o'  his  ship,. 
but  na  braggin'  o'  his  captain  ;  ye  ken  when  fel- 
lers are  afore  the  mast,"  here  he  polished  one  of 
the  anchor  buttons  on  his  sleeve,  "they  will  ■■' 


PASSED    AMONG    THE    PLAYERS. 


13 


scramble  sometimes  wi'out  cause  —  but  in  his 
case.  1  dare  say,  he  was  na'  far  out  in  his  reck- 
oning.    Weel,  ye  see,  as  I  could  na'  brag  my 
ship  against  his,  1  bragged  on  our  captain — he 
comes  frae  puir  auld  Scotland — and  naebody  had 
inuckle  chance  till  say  onything  against  him; 
he  wad  but  just  walk  up  the 'commodation  lad- 
der every  day  at  twal  o'clock,  and  if  there  was 
Da'  ony  punishment,  he'd  mak  his  bow  and  gang 
down  again  ;  and  it  there  sud  be  a  needcessity  to 
punish  some  puirdewil,  he'd  na' seem  to  takony 
pleasure  in  it — just  read  the  articles  o'  war,  and 
ask  the  teller  if  he  wad  prefer  till  be  tried  by  a 
court-martial,  and  raair  than  likely  get  hanged, 
or  take  twa  or  three  dozen  at  aince.     In  course 
they  a'  did,  whiles  I  belanged  till  the  ship,  but  ane 
puir,  daft  toad  o'  an  Irishman,  and  he  wad  insist 
till  be  tried  by  the  laws  o'  his  country,  as  he  ca'd 
it;  and  he  dangled  at  the  ear-ring  o'  the  ibreto'- 
s.il  yard — there's  na  gude  in  being  ower  obsti- 
nate— weel,  ye  maun  ken,  if  it  was  for  naething 
mair  than  owerstaying  liberty,  or  the  like  o' 
that;  when  they'd  gotten  a  dozen  or  sae,  he'd 
whisper  till  the  doctor,  and  the  doctor  wad  whis- 
per till  the  captain,  and  he'd  say,  '  Master-at- 
arms,  take  him  down ;'  then  they'd  pipe  the  sides- 
men, and  he  wad  make  his  bow  and  shove  off. 
Weel,  ye  see,  as  I  had  got  till  windward  o'  him 
as  till  our  commander  (that  is,  our  captain — the 
admiral  was  the  commander,  o' course,  though  1 
ne'er  seed   him   but  aince,  and  then  he  was  a 
horseback;   1  bow'd  till  him  as  in  duty  bound, 
and   he   bow'd  till   me  becase   he   liked  it),   I 
thought  I  wad  brag  o'  the  ship  a  wee  bit ;  ye  ken 
frae   Mother   Oakley's   door  ye    can    see    her, 
moored  otf  Haul-bowlin  Island;   weel,  ye  see, 
just  as  1  was  pointing  out  the  beauty  o'  her 
model — crack !  crack !  goes  the  muskets  o'  the 
twa  centries  o'  the  Tender,  and  in  a  minute  a'ter- 
wards  three  out  o'  lour  marines  blazed  awa  frae 
the  Trent,  but  they  did  na'  ken  at  what;  the  Ten- 
der lying  in-shore,  they  could  na'  see,  as  I  did, 
that  four  men  had  cut  the  painter  o'  the  yawl 
frae  the  guess-warp  o'  the  Tender,  and  were  ma- 
king for  shore.     I  gave  chase  till  overhaul  'em, 
as  they  made  up  hill,  and  just  came  up  as  young 
master,  here,  had  brought  them  to;  ye  see,  the 
sight  o'  a  uniform  till  a  round  jacket,  is  like  till 
a  constable's  stave  till  you  landsmen  ;  they  were 
fresh   press'd   men,   and   wad    a'   gaed  quietly 
aboard,  but,  in  a  minute  or  sae,  full  a  hundred 
women  and  bairns  a'  thegether,  set  up  a  yelloch 
that  made  a'  ring  again,  and  came  rampanging 
like  so  many  devils,  wi'  sticks,  and  staves,  and 
a'  kinds  o'  kitchen  furniture;  the  women  fought 
like  furies,  and   the  bairns  a  bletherin  a'  the 
time  in  full  chorus,  we  suld  ha'  been  murdered 
but  that  his  boat  was  a'  ready  at  the  landing,  and 
sae  we  managed  till  get  the  men  o'  board.     I  gat 
this  gash  on  my  cheek,  and  young  master  wi'  a 
big  bump  on  his  head  instead  o'  his  hat.     We 
had  baith  been  in  a  real  fuss  thegither,  a  short 
time  afore,  and  was  baith  on  the  list  for  promo- 
tion; there's  naething  like  until!  a  friend  at  court, 
Mr.  Hobblin ;  he  had  gotten  the  ear  o'  the  ad- 
miral, and  sae  he  put  baith  this  and  that  thegith- 
er, and  I  was  made  a  gunner,  and  sent  on  board 
the   Dryad.    But  let's  awa  aloft  and  see  the 
auld  woman." 

Eve,  they  tell  us,  was  made  out  of  one  of  her 
husband's  ribs;  Mrs.  Mackay  (as  far  as  bulk 
was  concerned)  could  have  been  made  very  ea- 
sily out  of  one  of  her  husband's  legs ;  he  was 
a  remarkably  large  man,  and  she  a  remarka- 
b.y  small  woman,  but  the  best  brewer  of  punch 


I  ever  met  with  before  or  since.  We  had  a  jo- 
vial evening — in  vino  Veritas — I  tola  all ;  and 
Mrs.  Mackay  insisted  that  she  should  make  me 
up  "a  nice  bed  on  the  sofa,"  and  remain  and 
take  "pot  luck"  with  them  till  pay-day  came, 
when  my  old  shipmate  would  settle  up  arrears, 
and  I  should  quit  the  mess  at  the  White  Horse. 
His  vessel  was  undergoing  repairs,  and  he  was 
on  shore-duty  at  the  navy  yard,  having  flint- 
locks shipped  on  the  carronades.  "  A  maist 
abominable  invention,"  as  he  said,  "just  as 
much  as  till  say  that  every  captain  o'  a  gun  at 
the  Nile,  St.  Vincent,  or  Trafalgar  was  o'  no 
gude  till  the  service." 

To  gratify  my  friend  and  amuse  myself,  I  had 
taken  an  "  inveterate  likeness"  of  my  old  ship- 
mate, and  another  of  his  little  wife  ;  these  were 
shown  to   Mr.  Hobbling,  their  landlord.     His 
brother  was  the  deputy-mayor  of  the  little  Rotten 
Borough  of  Saltash  in  Cornwall,  at  that  time 
called  so  with  justice,  for  it  could  boast  of  send- 
ing two  members  to  Parliament  to  represent  a 
population  six  or  eight  houses  were  sufficient  to 
contain ;  while  Birmingham,  and  Manchester, 
and  other  large  and   densely-inhabited  places, 
had  no  "sweet  voices"  in  the  councils  of  their 
country.     The  chief  magistrate,  as  I  have  ob- 
served, was  "  despatched  by  deputy,"  and  this 
dignitary  requested  I  would  take  two  such  like- 
nesses of  himself  and  wife,  lor  which  he  was 
willing  to  pay  any  price.     I  undertook  the  task 
for  thirty  guineas,  and  gave  such   satisfaction 
that  I  received  twenty  more  for  making  copies. 
During  the  time  occupied  in  this  operation  on 
the  mayor  and  his  wife,  I  called,  with  my  friend 
Mackay,  at  an  extensive  manufactory  of  glazed 
leather  hats:  a  regulation  had  just  been  intro- 
duced in  the  navy,  to  have  an  initial  of  the  ship's 
name,  or  some  fanciful  device,  on  the  hat  of  each, 
of  the  crew,  as  a  good  mark  to  know  what  ves- 
sel he  belonged  to,  in  the  event  of  desertion  or  ill 
conduct  on  shore.     All  the  mystery  of  the  pro- 
cess I  learned  by  looking  on,  the  design  and  ex- 
ecution "came  by  nature;"  and  I  actually  dec- 
orated with  a  JD,  in  genuine  gingerbread  style, 
the  hats  of  the  crew  of  a  ship  on  board  of  which, 
a  short  year  ago,  I  was  an  officer. 

An  old  messmate,  a  lieutenant  of  marines,  who 
had  borrowed  a  guinea  of  me  "  for  an  hour" 
three  weeks  before,  called  one  day  (perhaps  to 
borrow  another)  and  caught  me  at  my  degrading 
employment,  as  he  chose  to  consider  it,  and  the 
next  morning  he  crossed  a  muddy  street  to  avoid 
speaking  to  me.  But  for  my  own  part,  conscious 
pride  and  confidence  in  my  own  resources  made 
me  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  feel  independent, 
and  that  feeling  has  never  forsaken  me  midst 
many  turns  of 

"  Giddy  fortune's  furious,  fickle  wheel,  — 
That  goddess  blind." 

But  for  meeting  with  the  character  to  whom  I 
devote  the  next  chapter,  I  might  have  been  paint- 
ing hats  or  faces  "  at  this  present  writing." 


CHAPTER  V. 

"  Jig  off  a  tune  at  the  tongue's  end,  canary  to  it  with  your 
feet,  humour  it  with  turning  up  your  eyelids  ;  sigh  a  note, 
and  sing  a  note  ;  with  your  hat  penthouse-like  o'er  the  shop 
of  your  eyes;  with  your  arms  crossed  on  your  thin  belly- 
doublet,  like  a  rabbit  on  a  spit  ;  or  your  hands  in  your  pock- 
ets, like  a  man  after  the  old  painting  ;  and  keep  not  too 
long  in  one  tune,  but  snip  and  away.  These  are  accom- 
plishments, these  are  humours  ;  these  betray  nice  wenches, 


H 


THIRTY  YEARS 


that  would  be  betrayed  without  these  :  and  make  them  men 
of  nuiL-  that  most  are  affected  to  these." — Love's  Labour 
Lost. 

I  was  seated  in  the  reading-room  of  the  hotel, 
thinking  away  the  half  hour  before  dinner,  when 
my  attention  was  attracted  by  a  singularly-look- 
ing man.  He  was  dressed  in  a  green  coat, 
brass-buttoned  close  up  to  the  neck,  light  gray, 
approaching  to  blue,  elastic  pantaloons,  white 
cotton  stockings,  dress  shoes,  with  more  riband 
employed  to  fasten  them  than  was  either  useful 
or  ornamental ;  a  hat,  smaller  than  those  usually 
worn,  placed  rather  on  one  side  of  a  head  of  dark 
curly  hair;  fine  black  eyes,  and  what  altogether 
would  have  been  pronounced  a  handsome  face, 
but  for  an  overpowering  expression  of  impudence 
and  vulgarity;  a  sort  of  footman-out-of-place- 
looking  creature;  his  hands  were  thrust  into  the 
pockets  of  his  coat  behind,  and  in  consequence 
exposing  a  portion  of  his  person,  as  ridiculously, 
and  perhaps  as  unconsciously,  as  a  turkey-cock 
does  when  he  intends  to  make  himself  very  agree- 
able. He  was  walking  rather  fancifully  up  and 
down  the  room,  partly  singing,  partly  whistling 
"  The  Bay  of  Biscay  O,"  and  at  the  long-lived, 
but  most  nonsensical  chorus,  he  shook  the  fag- 
ends  of  his  divided  coat  tail,  as  if  in  derision  of 
that  fatal  "  short  sea,"  so  well  known  and  de- 
spised in  that  salt-water  burial-place.  I  was 
pretending  to  read  a  paper,  but,  in  fact,  puzzling 
my  brain  in  endeavouring  to  recollect  on  what 
side  of  this  many-manned  world  I  had  met  this 
human  being  before,  when  a  carrier  entered, 
and  placed  a  play-bill  before  me  on  the  table.  I 
had  taken  it  up  and  began  perusing  it,  when  he 
strutted  up,  and  leaning  over  my  shoulder,  said, 

"  I  beg  pardon,  sir;  just  a  moment." 

I  put  it  towards  him. 

"  No  matter,  sir,  no  matter ;  I've  seen  all  I 
want  to  see — the  same  old  two-and-sixpence — 
Hamlet,  Mr.  Sandford,  in  large  letters;  and  La- 
ertes, Mr.  Vandenhoff—  oh !" 

And  with  an  epithet  not  in  any  way  alluding 
to  the  "  sweet  South,"  he  stepped  off  to  the  Bis- 
cay tune,  allegro.  I  was  amused;  and  perhaps 
the  expression  of  my  face  encouraged  him  to  re- 
turn instantly,  and  with  the  familiarity  of  an  old 
acquaintance — and  that  he  was,  1  was  convinced, 
in  some  way  or  other — said, 

"  My  dear  sir,  that's  the  way  the  profession  is 
going  to  the  devil :  here,  sir,  is  the  '  manager'1 " — 
with  a  sneer — "  one  of  the  damnedest  humbugs 
that  ever  trod  the  stage,  must  have  his  name  in 
large  letters,  of  course;  and  the  and  Laertes,  Mr. 
Vandenhoff— he's  a  favourite  of  the  Grand  Mo- 
gul, as  we  call  old  Sandford,  and  so  he  gets  all 
the  fat;  and  d'ye  know  why  he's  shoved  down 
the  people's  throats  1  Because  he's  so  damned 
bad  the  old  man  shows  to  advantage  alongside 
of  him.     Did  you  ever  see  him  V 

I  shook  my  head. 

"Why,  sir,  he's  a  tall,  stooping,  lantern-jaw- 
ed, asthmatic-voiced,  spindle-shanked  fellow." 
Here  he  put  his  foot  on  the  rail  of  my  chair,  and 
slightly  scratched  the  calf  of  his  leg.  "  Hair 
the  colour  of  a  cock-canary,"  thrusting  his  fin- 
ders through  his  own  coal-black  ringlets;  "with 
light  blue  eyes,  sir,  trimmed  with  pink  gymp.  He 
hasn't  been  long  caught ;  just  from  some  nun- 
nery in  Liverpool,  or  somewhere,  where  he  was 
brought  up  as  a  Catholic  priest;  and  here  he 
comes,  with  his  Latin  and  Lancashire  dialect, 
to  lick  the  manager's  great  toe,  and  be  hanged 
to  him,  and  gets  all  the  business ;  while  men  of 
talent,  and  nerve,  and  personal  appearance," 


shifting  his  hands  from  his  coat  pockets  to  those 
of  his  tights,  "  who  have  drudged  in  the  profes- 
sion for  years,  are  kept  in  the  back-ground ;  'tis 
enough  to  make  a  fellow  sweat!" 

Very  adroitly  blowing  his  nose  with  his  fin- 
gers, and  cleaning  them  on  a  dirty,  once-white 
pocket-handkercnief. 

"  You,  then,  sir,  are  an  actor  1"  said  I,  calmly. 

"  An  actor !  yes,  sir,  I  am  an  actor,  and  have 
been  ever  since  I  was  an  infant  in  arms  ;  played 
the  child  that  cries  in  the  third  act  of  the  comedy 
of  'The  Chances,'  when  it  was  got  up  with, 
splendour  by  Old  Gerald,  at  Sheerness,when  I  was 
only  nine  weeks  old ;  and  I  recollect,  that  is,  my 
mother  told  me,  that  I  cried  louder,  and  more 
naturally,  than  any  child  they'd  ever  had.  Thai's 
vie,"  said  he,  pointing  to  the  play-bill — Horatio, 
Mr.  Howard. 

"  A  thought,  more  like  a  dream  than  an  assu- 
rance," flitted  past  my  mind,  and  I  was  about  to 
ask  a  question,  but  he  proceeded. 

"  I  used  to  make  a  great  part  of  Horatio  once; 
and  I  can  now  send  any  Hamlet  to  h —  in  that 
character,  when  I  give  it  energy  and  pathos ; 
but  this  nine-tailed  bashaw  of  a  manager  insists 
upon  my  keeping  my  '  madness  in  the  back- 
ground,' as  he  calls  it,  and  so  I  just  walk 
through  it,  speak  the  words,  and  make  it  a  poor, 
spoony,  preaching  son  of  a  how-came-ye-so, 
and  do  no  more  for  it  than  the  author  has.  But, 
sir,  I'll  pledge  you  my  honour  that  whan  I  be- 
longed to  Old  Lee's  company,  at  Totness,  a  lady, 
who  resided  at  Tor-Quay,  had  heard  so  much  of 
me  in  this  very  part,  that  she  engaged  me,  at  an 
enormous  expense,  to  represent  the  character  at 
her  own  house." 

I  was  right  in  my  suspicions :  it  was,  indeed, 
an  old  acquaintance,  the  beau  ideal  of  my  child- 
hood, the  identical  Horatio. 

"  And  after,"  he  continued,  "  I  had  enchanted 
them  with  my  performance,  I  was  had  into  the 
drawing-room,  had  a  damned  good  supper,  gave 
them  the  '  Bay  of  Biscay,'  one  of  my  best  songs — 

'  There  she  lay,  all  the  dav-  ' 

You  know  the  thing,  I  suppose ;  the  old  lady 
plied  me  with  bottled  porter,  hot,  with  nut- 
meg  and   sugar"   (I  thought  of  good-natured 

C ,  the  housekeeper),  "plenty  of  preserves, 

cold  chicken,  and  pickles  ;  and  in  the  morning, 
after  a  thundering  breakfast,  she  clapped  a 
knuckle  of  ham  and  a  piece  of  pound-cake  into 
a  clean  sheet  of  paper,  as  she  said,  to  pass  away 
the  time  in  the  coach." 

"  That  was  a  high  compliment,  Mr.  Howard," 
said  I,  without  knowing  what  I  said :  I  was 
again  at  home,  with  all  my  hopes  unblasted. 
"  A  high  compliment,  sir!  it  was  the  most  high 
compliment  that  ever  was  paid  to  any  tragedian 
of  eminence,  except  the  compliment  that  was 
paid  to  John  Kemble,  when  he  was  engaged,  at 
two-and-sixpence  an  hour,  to  read  to  the  Duke 
of  Norfolk,  when  he  was  laid  up  with  the  gout." 

I  cannot  vouch  for  the  authenticity  of  this 
anecdote,  as  I  never  heard  of  the  circumstance 
before,  nor  since.  Dinner  was  announced  ;  with- 
out expecting  or  intending  him  to  accept  my 
cold  invitation,  I  artificially  said, 

"  Will  you  join  me,  sir  1" 

"  My  dear  sir,"  he  replied,  "  nothing  could 
give  me  greater  pleasure  than  to  cut  your  mut- 
ton and  tap  your  tankard,  as  we  say ;  but  I  have 
a  very  particular  engagement  at  three  o'clock, 
to  promenade  two  charming  girls,  the  Misses 
Buckingham — splendid  creatures,  I  assure  you 


PASSED   AMONG   THE    PLAYERS. 


15 


— I'll  introduce  you.  I  want  to  beau  them  up 
and  down  George-street  once  or  twice,  just  to 
make  a  widow  of  my  acquaintance  miserable, 
who  lives  in  that  neighbourhood.  You  under- 
stand me;  ha,  ha,  ha  !     Have  you  the  time  1" 

"  I  have  not,"  said  I,  with  a  suppressed  sigh. 
I  thought  of  my  watch,  pawned  past  hope  of 
redemption.  "  But  as  I  ordered  my  dinner  at 
three,  I  presume  that  is  the  hour."  And  was 
slightly  bowing  my  way  between  him  and  the 
door,  when,  suddenly  hooking  his  arm  within 
mine,  he  exclaimed, 

"But  what  have  we  to  do  with  the  time  of 
the  day  1  unless  minutes  were  capons,  and  hours 
were  cups  of  sack,  as  jolly  Jack  FalstafT  says. 
I  have  taken  a  great  fancy  to  you,  and  shall  be 
happy  to  befriend  you  in  any  way  in  my  power. 
I'll  get  you  an  order  for  the  play  to-night,  and  if 
you'll  go,  dam'me  if  I  don't  let  out  a  little.  The 
girls  will  play  the  devil  with  me  for  disappoint- 
ing them,  but  I'll  gammon  'em ;  say  I  had  a  part 
to  study ;  it  does  me  good  to  tease  'em  some- 
times, they  like  you  the  better  for  it;  and,  as 
you're  so  very  pressing,  I'll  accept  your  kind 
invitation." 

I  had  seen  enough  of  the  world  to  perfectly 
understand  all  this ;  but  I  was  amused,  so  led  to 
the  dining-room  and  ordered  another  chop. 

"Two."  said  he,  "two;  and  harkye,  sweet- 
heart," picking  up  a  pickle  with  his  fingers  and 
popping  it  into  his  mouth,  "let's  have  a  pot  of 
porter  directly." 

I  always  adored  character,  and  though  I  didn't 
believe  him  to  be  a  very  estimable  one.  to  me, 
then,  he  was  an  original.  He  ate  fast  and 
slovenly,  frequently  using  and  praising  the  good 
old  adage  of  " fingers  were  made  before  tongs  "  he 
called,  in  a  tragic  tone,  for  "  another  chop  and  some 
cheese !"  and  "  a  pint  of  porter  at  my  expense!" 

The  last  part  of  the  order  I  instantly  contra- 
dicted. 

"  Well,  well,  just  as  you  say,"  said  he.  "  Then 
bring  Mr.  Cowell  another  pot  of  porter,  and  make 
haste,  d'ye  hear!" 

Not  being  aware  that  I  had  mentioned  my 
name  during  our  conversation,  if  it  might  so  be 
called,  where  he  had  had  nearly  all  the  talk  to 
himself,  I  inquired  how  he  had  learned  it. 

"Why,  my  dear  sir,  I  happened  to  be  in  the 
bar-room  this  morning,  and  the  landlord  came 
in,  and  says  he  to  his  wife, '  What  do  you  think, 
my  dear — Mr. Cowell  has  paid  his  bill.'  'He 
has !'  says  she ;  '  well,  now,  I  declare,  I  always 
thought  he  was  a  very  nice  young  man  ;  and,  no 
doubt,  as  he  has  got  the  reminiscence  as  he  ex- 
pected— '  Remittance,  of  course,  she  meant.  1 
know  well  enough  what  remittances  are ;  I  often 
have  occasion  for  them  myself.  For,  with  the 
paltry  sum  of  five  pounds  a  week — my  salary  in 
the  theatre — I  find  it  very  difficult  sometimes" — 
relying  his  shoestring  in  a  large  bow — "to  make 
both  ends  meet.  You  happened  to  pass  by  at 
the  time  she  was  speaking.  '  There  goes  Mr. 
Cowell,'  says  she ;  '  the  most  perfectest  gentle- 
man as  ever  stopped  at  a  house.'  I  was  pleased 
myself  with  your  appearance,  and  resolved  to 
form  a  friendship  with  you.  But  I  must  be  off. 
I'll  call  and  take  a  cup  of  tea,  and  make  it  up 
with  the  girls.  I've  got  to  break  the  neck,  too, 
of  a  blasted  part  for  to-morrow  night.  Nay, 
keep  your  seat.  'My  love  as  yours  to  mine.' 
Adieu !" 

True  to  his  word,  he  sent  the  order.  I  visited 
the  theatre — and  was  disgusted.  It  was  one  of 
the  plays  I  had  seen  in  my  halcyon  days  with 


Anna.     I  only  remembered  Kemble  in  the  cast ; 

who  but  a  professor  could  or  would  remember 

any  one  else'?    "A  combination  and  a  form,  in- 

1  deed,  where  every  god  did  seem  to  set  his  seal, 

i  to  give  the  world  assurance  of  a  man." 

I  was  well  acquainted  with  the  text;  having, 
when  quite  a  boy,  been  presented  with  an  ele- 
gant edition  of  Shakspeare  by  a  scholar  and  a 
gentleman,  the  chaplain  of  a  ship  I  belonged  to; 
and,  next  to  the  Bible,  he  recommended  it  to  my 
particular  perusal. 

The  manager — the  large-lettered  humbug — was 
decidedly  deserving  the  distinction  "himself  had 
made,"  but  the  rest  were  villanous,  and  Horatio 
the  worst  of  all.  I  was  shocked  and  angry  at 
my  boyish  judgment. 

How  is  it  that  children — I  mean  children  with 
a  fair  proportion  of  brains — are  so  contradictory 
in  taste  1  I  have  heard  a  little  girl  bestow  such, 
pretty  praise  on  a  primrose  or  a  butterfly,  that  I 
have  blushed  for  my  own  incompetence  so  rich- 
ly to  express  my  feeling ;  and,  in  the  next  half 
hour,  have  seen  the  same  child  in  ecstasies  of 
admiration  and  delight  at  the  antics  of  some  vul- 
gar clown  in  the  arena  of  a  circus. 

My  visit  to  the  theatre  that  evening  glanced  a 
ray  of  sunshine  on  my  clouded  path,  and  I  ar- 
gued thus:  "If  such  a  man  as  this  Howard  can 
get  five  pounds  a  week  for  what  he  does,  I  can 
do  the  same,  or  more.    By ,  I'll  turn  actor!" 

I  went  to  my  room  and  wrote  the  letter  which, 
will  be  found  in  the  next  chapter. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"  'Tis  easy  then  for  a  new  name, 
And  a  new  lite,  fashioned  on  old  desires." 

Shelley. 

"to  george  sandford,  esq.. 

"  Plymouth  Dock,  January  11,  1812. 
"Sir — I  wish  to  become  an  actor.  I  will  be 
content  to  receive  a  small  amount  of  pay,  until 
I  get  acquainted  with  the  duties  I  have  to  per- 
form. I  have  learned  logo,  in  Shakspeare's  play 
of  Othello,  and  could  easily  get  perfect  in  Bel- 
cour,  in  Cumberland's  comedy  of  The  West  In- 
dian. I  have  seen  Elliston  in  that  character  in 
London,  and  have  vanity  enough  to  believe  I 
could  play  either  of  them.  Your  early  reply 
through  the  postoffice  will  oblige 

"  Yours  respectfully, 

"Leathley  Irving." 

Three  anxious  days  passed,  and  "  nothing  for 
Leathley  Irving  I"  was  all  1  could  get  from  the 
postoffice.  On  the  fourth,  "  one  penny!"  was 
demanded,  and  a  very  gentlemanly-looking  note 
was  pushed  through  the  hole  to  the  following 
effect  : 

"George  Sandford  presents  his  compliments 
to  Mr.  Leathley  Irving,  and  will  be  happy  to 
have  a  conversation  with  him  at  his  house  on 
Thursday  next. 
"  To  Leathley  Irving,  Esq.     Tuesday  evening." 

His  address,  I  found,  was  at  a  handsome  fan- 
cy-shop in  George-street.  Of  a  tall,  sedate,  el- 
derly lady,  seated  behind  the  counter,  I  inquired 
for  Mr.  Sandford,  and  handed  my  card.  An  an- 
swer returned  in  a  minute,  "that  Mr.  Sandford 
had  an  appointment  with  a  gentleman  at  that 
hour,  but  I  might  name  my  business,  or  please 
to  call  again."  I  was  turning  towards  the  door, 
with  an  indignant  "  no  matter,"  when  the  thought 
occurred  to  me  that  I  had  sent  in  my  real  name ; 


16 


THIRTY   YEARS 


and,  in  some  embarrassment,  I  stated  that  I  had 
made  a  mistake  in  the  card — that  it  was  Mr. 
Lcathlcy  Irving,  with  whom  he  had  an  engage- 
ment, who  desired  to  see  him.  1  was  immedi- 
ately conducted  through  the  parlour  at  the  back 
of  the  shop,  then  through  the  kitchen,  by  a  pret- 
ty little  servant-maid,  who,  alter  knocking  at  a 
door  on  one  side,  and  waiting  for  a  pompously- 
sounding  "Come  in!"  on  the  other,  lilted  the 
latch,  dropped  ine  a  courtesy,  and  I  found  my- 
self in  the  presence  of  a  rather  (had  been)  hand- 
some man,  of  middle  stature,  about  forty  years 
of  age,  with  a  profusion  of  hair  (the  remains  of 
last  night's  powder  still  discernible),  rubbed  up 
in  all  directions  and  striking  individual  atti- 
tudes, resembling  the  angular,  dislocated  curls 
shreds  of  leather  would  make  if  suddenly  pop- 
ped into  a  broiling-hot  frying-pan.  He  was  en- 
veloped in  a  larger-patterned  calico  morning- 
gown  (will  anybody  tell  me  why  managers  of 
theatres  have  such  a  predilection  for  morning- 
gowns'?  I  have  found  but  one  exception  to  the 
fashion  in  eight-and-twenty  years,  from  George 
Sandford  down  to  Ludlow  and  Smith).  He  was 
pacing,  with  "  Tarquin's  ravishing  ftrides,"  an 
apartment  as  large  as  "  parlour,  kitchen,  and 
hall;"  a  book  in  one  hand,  and  ray  card  in  the 
other.  "  Sir,"  said  he,  as  he  turned  and  met  me, 
"  whom  have  I  the  honour  of  addressing — Mr. 
Co  well  or  Mr.  Leathley  Irving'?" 

"  Sir,"  I  replied,  in  the  same  authoritative  tone 
in  which  he  had  asked  the  question,  "  the  card 
bears  the  name  I'm  known  by ;  but,  if  I  turn 
player,  I  choose  to  be  called  Irving."  "  What 
for,  sir  I"  said  the  manager,  handing  me  a  chair, 
and  drawing  another  close  to  me:  "what  the 
devil  for,  sir1?  1  have  been  an  actor  more  than 
twenty  years,  and  have  known  many  serious  in- 
conveniences occur  to  men  in  after  life  from  the 
folly  of  changing  their  names  when  boys.  It's 
damned  nonsense,  sir !  There  can  be  but  one  ex- 
cuse for  a  young  man's  assuming  a  false  name 
upon  entering  my  profession,  and  that  is,  that 
his  previous  course  in  life  has  made  him  dam- 
nably ashamed  of  his  own."  I  felt  the  blood 
mount  to  my  forehead,  and  I  instinctively  rose 
from  my  chair.  "  Oh,  sir,"  said  my  new  friend, 
with  a  peculiarly  bland  and  placid  smile,  "  keep 
your  seat;  don't  imagine  I  suspect  you  of  hav- 
ing cause  to  be  ashamed  of  your  name;  'tis  the 
reverse  case  with  you :  you  assume  another 
name  because  you  are  ashamed  of  a  pursuit 
either  your  taste  or  your  necessities  induce  you 
to  adopt.  Now,  sir,  with  such  a  feeling  you  can 
never  be  an  actor.  No  man  can  ever  be  emi- 
nent in  a  profession  he  considers  it  a  disgrace  to 
follow.  The  Drama,  I  confess,  'bears  but  an  ill 
name  in  the  forest,'  but  the  blame  lies  with  the 
professors,  and  not  with  the  profession. 

"  There  are  myriads  of  men  who  are  a  dis- 
grace to  the  pulpit,  the  bar,  or  the  stage  ;  but  the 
Jtrightful  responsibility  of  daring  to  unfold  the 
cloak  pretended  piety  assumes,  and  the  legal 
cunning  of  the  advocate,  often  lets  the  parson 
and  the  lawyer  pass  unscathed,  while  the  poor 
player  walks,  with  his  hundred  errors,  stark  na- 
ked through  the  world,  for  every  daw  to  peck  at." 

There  was  much  good  sense  peeping  through 
his  enthusiastic  style  of  thought;  and  I,  in  very 
honesty  of  heart,  told  him,  in  few  words,  my 
painful  history. 

"  My  good  young  friend,"  said  he,  in  a  tone  of 
voice  well  trained  to  assist  his  meaning,  "  keep 
the  name  you  say  you  have  a  claim  to,  and  now 
are  known  by — you  have  good  requisites,  and, 


by  industry  and  perseverance,  may  become  an 
ornament  to  the  stage.  But  'tis  a  briery  path  to 
preferment  in  this  profession  ;  it  requires  time 
and  laborious  study  to  make  even  a  passable 
performer;  }rour  figure,  face,  and  voice  must  be 
apprenticed,  day  and  night,  to  nature.  A  letined 
and  well-educated  mind  may  be  formed  by  art 
and  industry;  but  it  must  naturally  possess  the 
wonderful  instinctive  capacity  to  seize  upon  and 
feel  the  thoughts  and  language  of  others,  and  use 
them  with  the  same  ease  and  freedom  as  if  they 
were  your  own.  To  be  a  great  actor  'is  to  be 
one  man  picked  out  of  ten  llwusand.'  Have  you  a 
good  study  V 

I  replied  in  the  negative. 

"  I'm  sorry  to  hear  that ;  without  a  good  study 
your  labours  will  be  so  severe  you'll  be  disgust- 
ed with  the  undertaking  before  you  reach  the 
threshold  of  success." 

"  Oh.  sir,"  said  I,  "  that  I  can  easily  remedy." 

"How,  sir  1  how?  Practice  will  improve  it, 
I'm  aware,  but  how  can  you  so  easily  remedy  a 
bad  study  V 

"By  changing  my  apartment,"  I  replied; 
"  my  chamber  is  next  the  dining  hall,  and  unless 
they  give  me  one  more  privately  situated,  I'll 
move  to  another  house." 

"  You  reprove  me  well,"  said  he,  with  a  smile  : 
"we  actors  use  the  term  study  for  the  attributes 
of  memory;  the  place  and  time  for  its  exercise 
are  varied  by  circumstances  and  the  habits  of  its 
owner." 

He  appeared  pleased  to  hear  me  say  I  had 
great  facility  in  acquiring  anything  I  wished  to 
learn. 

"  Come,  to  the  proof,  then,"  said  he.  jovially; 
"  let's  have  a  speech  straight.  You  say  you  are 
perfect  in  '  Iago;'  let's  have  one  of  his  solilo- 
quies, with  good  emphasis  and  good  discretion." 

He  saw  my  embarrassment,  and,  in  pure  good 
taste,  waived  the  subject;  not  like  some  puppies 
I  have  since  seen  sit,  in  satirical  pomposity,  en- 
joying the  tortures  of  some  trembling  tyro,  though 
that  very  sensibility  is  the  best  indicative  of  tal- 
ent, and  the  sure  attendant  upon  genius. 

"  Sir,  I  propose  you  shall  make  your  appear- 
ance in  Belcour  this  day  week;  but — "  he  contin- 
ued, "  be  most  dreadfully  perfect,  not  only  in  what 
you  have  to  say  yourself,  but  in  whatever  any 
one  else  has  to  say  to  you  ;  get  so  awfully  perfect 
that,  if  you  are  suddenly  awoke  in  the  night,  you 
will  be  able  to  repeat  the  whole  character  with- 
out hesitation.  In  the  mean  time,  it  will  smooth 
your  path  to  get  acquainted  (in  the  way  of  bu- 
siness) with  the  company — and  I  am  proud  to 
say  I  have  some  gentlemen  in  my  employ;  Mr. 
Moore,  an  excellent  low  comedian,  and  a  prop- 
er man,  and  Vandenhoft",  though  with  very  lit- 
tle talent,  possesses  a  superior  mind,  and  an  ex- 
cellent education.  Inquire  for  me  at  the  stage- 
door  this  evening,  and  take  a  t6te-a-t6te  dinner 
with  me  at  three  to-morrow,  and  any  advice  or  as- 
sistance you  may  require,  and  I  can  give,  you 
may  command." 

This  was  the  man  "  Horatio"  had  described 
as  an  insolent,  tyrannical  blackguard. 

Poor  George  Sandford.  He  died  a  few  years 
since,  regretted  and  respected  by  all  whose  good 
opinion  he  would  have  condescended  to  care  for 
while  living.  He  was  a  native  of  the  city  of 
New- York;  and  'tis  somewhat  strange  that  my 
best  theatrical  friend  and  manager  first  saw  the 
light  in  the  same  city  where  my  last  born  open- 
ed her  eyes,  and  in  a  country  I  by  choice  have 
been  a  citizen  of  for  more  than  half  my  thinking 


PASSED   AMONG   THE    PLAYERS. 


17 


life.  I  shall  like  to  meet  that  man  in  the  other 
world,  and  tell  him  all  about  his  native  country. 
He  was  an  excellent  general  actor.  I  have  rea- 
son to  believe  his  education  was  intuitive  (the 
better,  alter  all).  His  King  Lear  and  Doctor 
Pangloss  were  the  most  finished  representations 
of  the  characters  I  ever  saw. 

I  visited  the  green-room,  where  I  was  favour- 
ably received,  particularly  by  the  ladies,  among 
whom  was  a  sister  of  Alec.  Drake,  for  many 
years  the  favourite  comedian  of  the  "West." 
She  had  a  pretty  voice,  pretty  face,  but  waddled 
like  a  duck.  She  was  my  Louisa  Dudley.  1 
tried  very  hard  to  be  really  in  love  with  her,  for 
the  sake  of  increasing  the  effect,  but  I  believe 
she  succeeded  better  than  1  did  in  the  experi- 
ment. I  had  three  carefully-conducted  rehear- 
sals, each  one  serving  to  convince  me  more 
strongly  that  I  was  incapable  of  the  task  my 
selt-esteem  had  induced  me  to  believe  so  easy. 

The  night  arrived — January  the  twenty-third, 
.1812. 

"  T7ie  part  of  Belcour  by  a  gentleman,  his  first 
appearance  on  any  stage"'  attracted  a  full  and 
very  fashionable  house.  Admiral  Calder,  the 
commander  of  the  port,  and  a  large  party,  occu- 

Eied  the  stage-box.  1  had  many  shipmates  in 
arbour  at  the  time,  and  some  relatives:  all,  of 
course,  attended,  induced  by  pity  ;  how  I  hate  the 
word — scorn  or  curiosity. 

I  had  been  used  to  danger  in  many  shapes,  and 
fear  is  not  an  attribute  of  my  nature,  but  I  was 
most  damnably  frightened  on  that  occasion.  I 
.  spoke  the  words  mechanically,  but  I  could  nei- 
ther see  nor  hear;  my  mouth  was  parched  ;  what 
to  do  with  my  hands  I  knew  not ;  1  deposited 
them  in  all  sorts  of  places ;  if  both  ;.rms  had  been 
amputated,  I  felt  assured  I  should  have  been  re- 
lieved of  an  abominable  encumbrance.  Embar- 
rassed by  my  embarrassment.  Stockwcll  bungled 
in  one  of  his  speeches :  I  repeated  it,  and  then 
spoke  mine  in  reply;  the  audience,  confound 
them,  laughed  and  applauded.  I  felt  I  had  done 
wrong:  my  brain  whirled  in  confusion,  and  I 
rushed  off  the  stage  before  the  conclusion  of  the 
scene,  amid  deafening  shouts,  yells,  and  huzzas, 
such  as  are  generally  humanely  bestowed  upon 
the  retreat  from  a  butcher's-stall  of  some  poor 
devil  of  a  dog  with  a  tin  kettle  tied  to  his  tail ;  and 
at  that  moment,  L  have  no  doubt,  I  experienced 
precisely  the  same  sensations. 

" For  God's  sake  give  me  a  glass  of  grog!"  I 
stammered  out ;  "and,  my  dear  sir,"  grasping  the 
hand  of  the  manager,  kindly  extended  to  me  at 
the  entrance,  "finish  the  part  for  me:  I  feel  my 
incapacity,  and  only  regret  my  conceit  caused 
me  to  make  such  a  jackass  of  myself." 

"  Pho,  pho !  you  must  conclude  what  you  have 
begun,"  said  he,  in  his  positive  but  gentlemanly 
manner;  "the  first  plunge  is  over,  you'll  feel 
your  power  in  the  next  scene;  your  great  fault 
is,  you  try  to  do  too  much ;  stand  still,  don't  act, 
and  speak  louder;  think  you  are  talking  to  some 
one  in  the  gallery,  and  then,  if  you  only  whisper, 
you'll  be  heard  all  over  the  house:  take  another 
sup  of  brandy  and  water — there — that's  your  cue." 

I  felt  encouraged  by  grog  and  good  advice, 
and  the  next  scene  is  a  very  effective  one:  I  im- 
itated^Elliston  as  well  as  I  could,  and  was  ad- 
mirably supported  and  encouraged  by  the  manner 
of  the  excellent  actress  who  performed  Mrs.  Ful- 
mer,  and  I  retired  amid  the  unbounded  applause  of 
a  brilliant  and  overflowing  audience. 

"  There,"  said  my  mentor,  triumphantly, 
"  didn't  I  tell  you  how  it  would  be !  'tis  decided- 
C 


ly  the  best  first  appearance  I  have  seen  for 
years." 

I  gained  courage  as  the  comedy  proceeded ;  and 
at  its  conclusion,  the  manager,  amid  thunders  of 
applause,  announced  it  for  repetition  on  the  Sat- 
urday following:  "  The  part  of  Bdcour  by  the 
young  gentleman  who  had  been  so  favourably  re- 
ceived that  evening." 

The  barbarous  lashion  was  not  then  invented 
of  demanding  the  presence  of  the  object  of  sup- 
posed admiration  or  ridicule,  to  add  to  his  mis- 
eries, by  expecting  him  to  speak,  or  bow,  or 
make  a  fool  of  himself  in  some  way  or  other, 
which,  nowadays,  these  victims  of  vanity  on  both 
sides  usually  do. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"  What,  wouldst  thou  have  me  go  and  beg  my  food  ? 
Or  with  a  base  and  boisterous  sword  enforce 
A  thievish  living  on  the  common  road  ? 
This  I  must  do,  or  know  not  what  to  do  : 
Yet  this  1  will  not  do,  do  how  I  can  ; 
I  rather  would  subject  me  to  the  malice 
Of  a  diverted  blood." 

Shakspeare. 

Everybody  said  my  performance  was  most 
excellent  for  a  first  appearance,  but  I  felt  no  self- 
satisfaction.  To  the  inexperienced,  the  more 
pure  and  true  to  nature  acting  is,  the  easier  it 
appears;  but  to  rant,  and  shout,  and  "out-herod 
Herod,"  distort  the  face  and  form  in  a  way  that 
no  human  being  ever  did  off  the  stage,  in  his 
senses  or  out  of  them,  seems  a  most  arduous  un- 
dertaking. This  caused  the  delusion  under 
which  I  laboured.  In  the  seven  plays  I  saw  with 
Anna  (we  ne'er  shall  look  upon  their  like  again), 
all  difficulty  was  so  concealed  by  the  refinement 
of  art,  that  I  foolishly,  yet  firmly,  believed  I  could 
sustain  any  of  the  characters  quite  as  well,  with- 
out dreaming  I  should  ever  be  put  to  the  test.  I 
have  no  data  of  any  kind,  lam  sorry  to  say,  but  the 
impression  they  made  on  my  memory  is  as  fresh 
at  this  distant  period  as  it  was  the  morning  after 
I  saw  the  performance,  and  I  will  name  part  of 
the  "casts"  of  some  of  them. 

The  West  Indian. 
Belcour     -----     Elliston. 

James  H.  Caldwell  is  the  only  actor  on  this 
side  the  water  I  have  seen  approach  him  in  gen- 
teel comedy. 

O'Flaherty    -    -    -    -      Johnstone. 

Worth  a  hundred  Powers,  if  even  Power  had 
been  really  what  he  had  the  tact  to  make  the 
public  believe  he  was. 

Charles  Dudley      -    -      De  Camp. 
Then  a  most  elegant  young  man,  and  an  ex- 
cellent actor,  in  spite  of  his  conceited,  paw !  paw ! 
voice. 

Varland Dowton. 

Then  in  his  prime;  a  shadow  of  his  former 
self  came  to  this  country  about  three  years  ago. 

"All  that's  bright  must  fade.7' 
Stockwell      -    -    -    -      Powell. 
Charlotte      -    -    -    -      Miss  Duncan. 
A  delightful  actress  in  such  characters. 


Louisa 


I  forget  her  name,  but  she  was  a  most  beauti- 
ful creature  (almost  all  that  is  necessary  for  the 
part).  I  remember  I  praised  her  so  highly,  that 
poor  Anna  declared  she  thought  "  she  was  a  per- 
fect fright." 


18 


THIRTY    YEARS 


Hamlet. 
I  recollect  nothing  but  Kcmble,  and  that  his 
brother  Charles  was  Laertes;  but  "the  King,  the 
Glueen,  and  all  the  Court,"  are  all  buzz. 

Isabella. 

The  principal  characters  by  Brunton,  Charles 
Kemble,  Keinble,  and  Mrs.  Siddons. 

On  the  Saturday  I  was  more  collected;  my 
hearing  and  sight  were  restored;  though  I  was 
often  interrupted  by  some  sea-phrase  applicable 
to  the  sentence  I  was  uttering,  or  a  well-meant 
expression  of  encouragement,  every  now  and 
then,  from,  probably,  some  old  shipmate,  to  the 
great  amusement  of  the  rest  of  the  audience ;  and, 
at  the  conclusion  of  the  performance,  "Three 
cheers  for  the  blue  jacket!"  was  announced,  and 
performed  in  full  chorus.  This  latter  compli- 
ment I  was  in  the  habit  of  receiving  upon  the 
slightest  occasion,  during  the  season ;  for,  though 
I  had  been  dismissed  the  navy  with  a  "  flea  in 
my  ear,"  my  offence  was  "a  feather  in  my  cap" 
in  the  estimation  of  my  comrades  of  my  own 
grade,  or  those  beneath  me.  "  By  the  Eternal  ! 
I  had  the  popular  vote,"  as  my  friend  General 
Jackson  would  say. 

The  pit,  gallery,  and  upper-boxes  of  the  Dock 
Theatre,  at  that  time,  were  crowded  with  sailors 
and  marines,  with  their  loivesforaweck,  and  dock- 
yard ma-tes,  as  they  were  called,  between  whom 
and  the  round-jackets  existed  a  continual  "  well- 
fought  war."  These  jolly  "  gods"  had  a  nick- 
name for  nearly  every  member  of  the  company. 
I  found  they  greeted  my  friend  Horatio  with, 
"Hurra  for  Sky-blue!"  This  appellation  he 
had  gained  in  consequence  of  his  great  attach- 
ment for  the  very  "  tights"  he  wore  the  first 
morning  I  met  with  him.  He  played  Major 
O'Flaherty ;  there  they  were,  with  a  gold  band 
down  each  side.  He  rendered  them,  as  actors 
say,  "a  very  useful  property."  They  could  be 
worn,  "  for  a  change,"  with  black  Hessian-boots, 
or  russet,  or  shoes  of  any  colour  with  stockings ; 
but  sandals  they  set  at  defiance;  for  shabby- 
genteel  characters,  a  red  or  white  patch  or  two 
made  them  "  very  characteristic  ;"  and  as  to 
stripes,  they  would  bear  any  but  blue. 

About  this  period  there  was  a  certain  "odd 
kind  of  a  new  method  of  swearing"  ran  through 
the  fleet,  and  "  By  Cheeks  the  marine"  was  a  fa- 
vourite oath.  A  very  old  actor,  of  the  name  of 
Chambers,  whose  weakness  it  was  to  boast  con- 
tinually that  he  had  "  had  his  ancestors  too," 
on  that  evening  was  struck  by  an  apple,  thrown 
from  the  gallery ;  taking  it  up,  he  stepped  for- 
ward, and  very  pompously  said,  "  I'll  give  twenty 
pounds  to  know  who  threw  this  apple !"  "  Cheeks 
the  marine !"  cried  a  voice  from  above.  When 
the  shout  the  response  created  was  over,  draw- 
ing himself  up,  and  glancing  at  the  commander 
of  the  port  in  the  stage-box,  he  said,  with  a  sigh 
to  bygone  greatness,  "  In  my  schoolboy  days  I 
knew  an  admiral  of  that  name."  "  Huzza,  boys ! 
huzza!  three  cheers  for  Admiral  Cheeks  !"  He 
had  christened  himself  most  effectually  forever 
in  that  company,  to  his  own  annoyance,  and  the 
destruction  of  any  serious  scene  in  which  he 
was  concerned.  For  the  last  five-and-twenty 
years  I  would  have  gloried  in  them  as  a  low 
medy  audience;  but  at  that  time  they  often 
played  the  devil  with  my  juvenile  tragedy. 

Mackay  and  his  wile  were  loud  in  their  en- 
comiums. 

"Ye  looked  sae  slick-like,"  said  my  honest 
friend,  "  wi'  ye'r  white  silk  wash-boards  till  ye'r 


coat;  ye  looked  mair  like  a  sailor  than  a'  the 
rest  thegither,  wi'  ye'r  bonny  leg  a  leetle  bow'd, 
and  baith  ye'r  taes  turned  in,  as  if  ye'r  war 
stonding  firm  on  ye'r  shanks  in  a  chappin  sea.; 
an'  the  hitch  ye  gave  ye'r  small  claithes  when 
ye  said  onything  clever  was  the  best  o'  a'.  I 
ne'er  seed  but  ane  actor  as  guid,  and  he  was  na 
sae  much  better  nether  —  'twas  a  leetle  Scots 
pony,  at  Portsdown  Fair.  He  was  a  saucy 
wee  bit  toad  that,  that  when  his  master  wad 
say  till  him,  '  Billy,  what's  tlue  hour,  my  chiel  T 
he'd  paw,  and  paw — ane,  twa,  or  as  mony  as 
it  was,  as  natural  as  a  quartermaster  makin' 
eight  bells." 

Now  this  I  considered  the  highest  compliment 
paid  to  me  by  any  of  my  friends ;  and  how  oftea 
since  would  I  have  preferred  being  said  to  be 
"almost  as  good  as  a  learned  pig,  or  pony"  thaa 
"  to  be  'nearly  equal"  to  some  two-legged  baboon, 
with  a  red  tail,  black  eyebrows,  and  a  mouth 
from  ear  to  ear ! 

The  following  day  (Sunday)  I  dined  with  the 
manager.  After  the  cloth  was  drawn,  his  good 
lady  had  retired,  and  he  had  twice  thrust  the  de- 
canter towards  me,  he  said,  "  I  requested  this 
interview,  Mr.  Cowell,  that  we  might  talk  over 
and  consider  in  what  way  I  could  serve  you.; 
but  a  letter  I  received  this  morning,  most  fortu- 
nately, points  out  a  path  for  you  at  once.  I  can- 
didly tell  you,  I  have  no  doubt  on  my  mind  as 
to  your  ultimate  success  in  the  drama.  Mr. 
Fisher,  a  friend  of  mine,  who  has  a  small  com- 
pany travelling  in  Cornwall,  writes  me  here  to 
recommend  (if  in  my  power)  a  young  man  to 
supply  a  vacancy  in  juvenile  tragedy  and  light 
comedy;  there  you  will  gain  confidence  by  con- 
stant practice,  and  next  season  I  will  be  happy 
to  receive  you.  I  will,  therefore,  if  you  say  so,, 
write  to  him  to-day,  and  name  you." 

I  thanked  him,  but  respectfully  declined  his 
offer :  to  engage  to  play  juvenile  tragedy  and 
light  comedy,  without  knowing  a  single  charac- 
ter, with  a  stranger  for  my  manager,  and  per- 
haps a  stranger  company,  was  an  undertaking 
too  appalling  for  me  to  accept.  "  But,  my  dear 
sir,"  I  continued,  "  if  you  will  permit  me  to  re- 
main with  you,  and  play  at  intervals  any  parts 
you  may  think  me  capable  of  sustaining,  I  will 
paint  portraits  and  teach  drawing  in  my  interims 
of  leisure  for  a  living,  and  not  require  any  pay." 

"  Sir,"  said  he,  with  emphasis,  "  an  amateur 
I  have  a  horror  of;  we  have  actors  enough  al- 
ready, 'e'en  as  many  as  can  well  live  one  by  an~ 
other ;'  the  line  of  business  you  are  fitted  for  at 
present  is  already  filled,  and  it  is  the  etiquette  of 
the  profession  never  to  dispossess  an  actor  of  a 
character  he  has  once  played,  if  he  is  at  all  ca- 
pable of  sustaining  it."  i 

I  felt  and  looked,  I  imagine,  mortified  and  dis- 
appointed. "  Then,"  said  I,  "since  there  is  no 
hope  of  an  engagement  this  season,  I  will  teach 
drawing  and  navigation  (if  I  can  get  any  pupils), 
and  wait  till  next  year." 

After  a  pause  of  a  minute,  with  his  expressive 
eye  looking  through  me,  he  said  slowly, 

"  I  know  what  it  is  to  have  our  youthful  ar- 
dour blighted.  I  adore  my  profession,"  he  con- 
tinued, with  enthusiasm,  "and  am  always  proud 
to  enlist  a  gentleman  in  its  ranks:  my  only 
reason  for  hesitation  in  the  matter  is,  that  though 
I  have  the  whole  control  here,  I  am  connected 
with  Mr.  Hughes,  the  proprietor  of  Saddler's 
Wells,  and  he  is  unwilling  to  add  to  our  ex- 
penses; but,"  he  continued,  carelessly,  "I'll 
manage  it.    Let  me  see ;  we  must  try  you  in 


PASSED  AMONG  THE  PLAYERS. 


19 


Shakspeare.  Can  you  get  perfect  in  Ross  and 
Lennox,  in  Macbeth,  by  Thursday'?  We  make 
the  two  parts  into  one,  for  want  of  numbers. 
Wednesday  we  wish  to  do  it,  if  you  can  get 
ready — the  lines  are  difficult." 

"  Easily,  sir,"  I  replied.  ,:  I  believe  I'm  per- 
fect in  the  whole  play." 

"Well,"  said  he,  "that's  more  than  the  last 
gentleman  was,  even  in  the  parts  I  speak  of, 
and  he  has  been  on  the  stage  these  twelve  years. 
As  to  the  teaching,  get  Mrs.  Sandford  to  place 
one  or  two  of  your  beautiful  drawings  in  her 
shop,  and  I'll  engage  she'll  obtain  you  more  pu- 
pils than  you  can  attend  to,  as  you  cannot  possi- 
bly spare  more  than  two  or  three  hours  a  day 
from  your  studies.  Now  as  to  the  shillings  and 
pence  part  of  the  business.  The  highest  salary 
we  give  is  a  guinea  and  a  half  per  week,  and  I 
will  put  your  name  on  the  books  for  one-pound- 
one." 

I  thought  of  Horatio's  boasted  five  founds  a 
week,  and  I  felt,  and  appeared,  astonished,  I  sup- 
pose. The  manager,  with  disappointment  and 
anger  joined  in  the  expression,  gave  me  a  severely 
scrutinizing  look  ;  this  increased  my  embarrass- 
ment, and,  with  the  blood  mantling  in  my  face  at 
the  horror  of  his  suspecting  (after  all  his  kindness) 
that  the  small  sum  he  offered  me  was  the  cause 
of  the  feeling  I  displayed,  I  exclaimed,  with  en- 
ergy, "  You  wrong  me,  sir,  indeed  you  do.  I 
have  not  the  power  to  give  utterance  to  the  high 
sense  I  have  of  your  kindness  to  me ;  the  sum 
you  name  is  much  more,  I  am  confident,  than  I 
can  at  present  earn,  and  you  have  wrongly  con- 
strued my  thoughts  if  you  imagine,  for  a  mo- 
ment, it  was  that  which  caused  my  surprise  ;  it 
was  my  astonishment  that  Mr.  Howard  should 
have  gratuitously  told  me  that  he  received  five 
pounds." 

"  My  dear  young  friend,"  said  he,  stretching 
across  the  table  to  shake  me  heartily  by  the 
hand,  "  you  have  much  to  learn  of  my  profes- 
sion yet.  I  make  it  a  rule  never  to  name  the 
amount  of  an  actor's  salary  to  anybody,  but  in 
this  case  it  is  necessary.  Mr.  Howard  receives 
twenty-five  shillings  a  week,  and  if  his  intellect 
was  valued,  instead  of  his  utility,  he  wouldn't 
obtain  five." 

I  expressed  my  indignation  that  he  should,  un- 
asked, have  told  me  such  a  falsehood. 

"  Oh  !  he  meant  no  harm,"  said  he,  laughing; 
"  'tis  the  fashion  or  habit  of  nine  actors  out  of 
ten  to  declare  their  income  is  at  least  three  times 
as  large  as  it  really  is,  and  their  benefits  are  al- 
ways said  by  them  to  be  fashionable  and  over- 
flowing houses;  they  boast  on  these  points  so 
continually,  that  they  at  last  actually  believe  it 
themselves,  and  run  in  debt,  generally,  in  the 
same  proportion." 

Both  apparently  well  pleased  with  the  termi- 
nation of  our  negotiation,  we  parted,  with  a  glass 
of  wine  to  my  success  as  an  actor. 

What  strange  animals  we  poor  human  beings 
are !  I  had,  foctwo  hours  or  more,  felt  as  if  my 
very  existence  depended  on  my  obtaining  this 
employment,  and  I  had  scarcely  let  the  door 
close  behind  me  when  I  felt  as  if  I  ought  to  go 
back  and  decline  the  engagement.  A  thousand 
contradictory  feelings  filled  my  mind  at  once.  I 
hurried  on,  as  if  to  outwalk  my  own  thoughts. 
I  stopped,  out  of  breath,  at  the  corner  of  a  street 
— looked  up  at  the  new  moon  with  the  inquiring 
gaze  of  an  old  acquaintance,  but  before  I  had 
time  even  to  ask  advice  from  that  quarter,  a 
cloud,  "  black  like  an  ousel,"  hid  her  from  my 


view.  "  My  conscience,  hanging  about  the  neck  of 
my  heart,  said  very  wisely  to  rnic,"  "  If  you  take 
this  step  you  must  resign  all  hope  of  your  ever 
regaining  your  past  position."  Pride — revenge — 
yes,  revenge  ! — I  know  no  other  word  nearer  to 
my  meaning — and  a  sort  of  "  danvme-if-I-care- 
for-anything-or-anybody"  sensation,  carried  the 
point.  I  went  home  and  read  Ross  and  Len- 
nox from  the  acting  copy,  and  have  been  an 
actor  ever  since. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

"  Then  to  the  well-trod  stage  anon, 
If  Jonson's  learned  sock  be  on  ; 
Or  sweetest  Shakspeare,  fancy's  child, 
Warhle  his  native  wood-notes  wild." 

Milton 

On  the  Monday  morning  I  was  formally  in- 
troduced as  a  member  of  the  company,  and  most 
kindly  welcomed  by  all;  but  particularly  by  the 
gentleman  with  whose  interests  I  was  most  like- 
ly to  interfere.  This  display  of  indifference  by 
those  who  are  suffering  in  dread  and  dismay  lest 
you  push  them  from  their  stools,  is  very  common 
in  the  profession,  and  generally  overdone  :  they 
are  usually  what  may  be  called  too  d — d  affec- 
tionate. In  England,  they  conclude  a  sort  of 
negative  complimentary  chat  with  "  Suppose 
you  take  your  dinner  with  me  V  supposing  they 
have  got  one  to  offer;  and  on  "this  side  of  the 
water"  they  always  say,  "  Let's  go  and  take  a 
drinkl"  The  arrangement  of  my  dress  for  the 
twin  Scotchmen  the  manager  had  promised  to 
attend  to ;  but  the  loan  of  "properties,  or  anything 
I  have,  is  perfectly  at  your  service,"  was  itera- 
ted by  all.  Howard  said,  "  My  boy,  by  — ,  I'll 
lend  you  my  blue  tights — oh,  you're  perfectly 
welcome,  I  don't  wear  them  till  the  farce  :  Ban- 
quo's  one  of  my  flesh  parts — nothing  like  the  na- 
ked truth — I'm  h — 1  for  nature.  By-the-by,  you'll 
often  have  to  wear  black  smalls  and  stockings; 
I'll  put  you  up  to  something:  save  your  buying 
silks,  darning,  stitch-dropping,  louse-ladders, 
and  all  that :  grease  your  legs  and  burned-cork 
'em — it  looks  d— d  well  '  from  the  front.'  " 

All  my  worldly  experience  had  been  gathered 
in  a  cockpit,  the  members  of  which  are  hetero- 
geneous enough  in  all  conscience,  but  they  have 
all  exactly  the  same  duty  to  perform,  the  same 
pay,  same  living,  same  law  to  abide  by,  and, 
generally  speaking,  are  of  about  the  same  grade 
in  the  scale  of  society,  even  before  the  service 
has  levelled  all  distinctions.    Judge,  then,  how 
incapable  I  was  of  understanding  or  apprecia- 
ting the  eccentric  and  contradictory  habits  and 
manners  of  my  new  allies.     The  "quantity  of 
materials  thought  necessary  by  the  three  witch- 
es in  Macbeth  to  "  make  the  gruel  thick  and 
slab,"  are  not  more  opposite  and  various  in  their 
compound  than  the  origin  and  character  of  the 
"  Ladies  and  Gentlemen"  attached  to  the  theatri- 
cal profession.     "  There   lies   the  villany :"   if 
there  could  be  instituted  a  college — a  school — an 
ordeal  of  any  kind  to  be  passed  before  man  or 
woman  were  admitted  to  be  an  actor  or  actress, 
the  Drama,  blazing  in  its  own  brightness,  would 
be  honoured  and  respected.     'Tis   true,  many 
have  risen  from  the  lowest  dregs  of  society  to 
the  topmost  pinnacle  of  theatrical  ambition  — 
Mrs.  Abington  and  Kean  may  be  named  as  ex- 
traordinary instances — but  how  many  remain 
floundering  in  their  original  mire,  sullying  the 
fair  fame  of  those  deserving  moral  estimation : 


20 


THIRTY   YEARS 


The  world  never  thinks  of  drawing  a  distinc- 
tion ;  and.  indeed,  by  what  rale  could  it  make 
one  1  We  don't  .stop  a  man  in  the  street  with  a 
muddy  coat  to  ascertain  ii'he  had  soiled  it  by  help- 
ing some  blackguard  out  of  a  gutter,  but  con- 
lent  ourselves  with  thinking  he's  a  dirty  fellow. 
The  kindness  of  the  manager,  and  the  preju- 
diced indulgence  of  the  audience,  made  me  a  fa- 
vourite with  both.  Sandford's  prediction  was 
verified  as  to  the  teaching,  and  1  was  in  the  re- 
ceipt of  a  handsome  income  immediately.  I 
charged  a  high  price,  and  undertook  to  instruct 


The  law  might  have  been  argued,  according 
to  the  statute  in  that  case  made  and  provided, 
till  Munden  had  made  the  fellow  laugh  himseli 
out  of  his  pay  altogether,  had  not  Sandford  sent 
the  man  off  with  a  shilling,  and  requested  the 
great  actor  to  go  on  with  the  rehearsal. 

"  We  have  waited  two  hours  for  you  already ; 
your  letter  stated  you  would  be  here  last  night," 
said  the  manager. 

"  And  so  1  should  ;  but  I  couldn't  come 
without  wheels,"  replied  the  comedian ;  "  the 
stage  broke  down  just  as  we  got  to  Ivy  Bridge, 


those  only  who  had  already  gained  some  pron-    on  purpose,  no  doubt,  that  the  robbers  might  pil- 


ciency  in  the  art,  with  one  exception.  I  did 
teach  one  "young  idea" — a  lovely  girl  of  about 
fifteen,  a  step-daughter  of  Major  Watwyns— 
a  Jewess-like  divinity.  Is  there  a  style  of 
beauty  on  earth  that  can  compare  with  the  Ori- 
ental, poetic  loveliness  of  those  chosen  females 
when  they  are  young  1  But  then,  they  will  get 
married,  and  make  it  a  rule  to  "increase  and 
multiply,"  which  undoubtedly  makes  them  more 
interesting  as  wives  and  mothers,  but  it  spoils 
the  poetry.  There  are,  to  be  sure,  exceptions, 
and  the  lady  I  allude  to  is  one  of  them. 

"  How  long  hath  Chronon  wooed  in  vain 
To  spoil  that  cheek  !" 

A  few  years  since  I  had  the  pleasure  of  being 
again  introduced  to  my  charming  pupil,  at  Cin- 
cinnati. She  is  the  wife  of  a  merchant  there, 
has  a  large  family,  and  is  as  handsome  as  ever. 
Inclalon,  "  the  inspired  idiot,"  was  the  first  star 
I  ever  played  with.  He  has  helped,  most  inno- 
cently, to  make  so  many  books,  that  in  his  case 
-"the  wine  of  life  is  drawn,  and  the  mere  lees  is 
left  (for  me)  to  brag  of;"  so  let  him  rest  with 
the  "  sainted  Jane  and  Mary." 

Munden,  who  had  been  underlined  for  a  week, 
arrived  at  last;  the  company  were  engaged  in 
the  rehear.«ul  of  the  "  Road  to  Ruin,"  he  having 
written  from  Exeter  to  desire  that  he  might  be  ad- 
vertised for  Old  Dornton  and  Crack  for  that 
night;  and  his  nonappearance  at  the  time  he  sta- 
ted had  caused  some  uneasiness;  he  was  fol- 
lowed by  a  porter  with  a  large  trunk.  After  cor- 
dially greeting  the  manager  and  the  members  of 
the  company,  with  whom  he  vas  before  ac- 
quainted, he  said,  "  Sandford,  my  dear  boy,  lend 
me  sixpence."  And  (in  a  voice,  oh,  how  rich — 
rich  is  a  mean  phrase  to  convey  an  idea  of  its 
round,  articulate,  expressive  power)  he  contin- 
ued: 

"  I  have  had  my  wardrobe  brought  to  the  the- 
atre; it  saves  trouble,  and  the  expense  of  little 
boys  bothering  you  for  a  penny  a  piece  to  carry 
a  bundle.  You  left  the  other  trunk  at  my  lodg- 
ings, my  good  man  1" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  porter,  shaking  into  the 
crown  of  his  hat  a  tattered  handkerchief,  with 
which  he  had  just  removed  the  sweat  of  his 
brow. 

"  Here's  a  shilling,  Mr.  Munden,"  said  Sand- 
ford ;  "  I  haven't  a  sixpence." 

"Have  you  the  change,  my  man?"  inquired 
the  great  comedian. 

"Have  I  change  for  what,  sir1?"  said  the  por- 
ter. 

"  For  the  shilling,  my  dear  boy,"  replied 
Munden. 

"And  is  it  less  than  a  shilling  that  a  gentle- 
man like  yon  would  be  offering  a  poor  devil 
like  myself  for  wheeling  two  big  boxes  nearly  a 
111116?  Sure  the  law  allows  sixpence  a  parcel, 
if  it's  onlv  as  big  as  your  fist." 


lage  me  at  the  hotel  there;  the  bloodsuckers 
took  every  shilling  I  had  for  bed  and  board,  and 
bit  me  to'  death  with  fleas  into  the  bargain.  I 
had  but  threepence  left  when  I  made  my  escape 
from  them  this  morning;  I  offered  them  to  the 
guard,  after  he  had  collected  my  baggage,  and 
he  told  me  to  keep  it,  sir!  the  impudent  scoundrel 
told  me  to  keep  it,  and  so  I  did,"  he  continued, 
with  a  laugh  worth  the  whole  stage  fare  from 
London  to  Plymouth,  "and  treated  myself  to  a 
pint  of  porter,  and  the  odd  ha'  penny  I  gave  to 
Roadie's  children  to  buy  lollipops— to  buy  lolli- 
pops, sir,  and  bull's  eyes;  I  stopped  there  on  my 
way,  to  let  them  know  I  had  arrived,  and  see  if 
my  room  was  ready." 

This  said  Roache  was  an  old  friend  of  Mun- 
den's,  and  it  is  highly  probable  he  had  the  room 
without  charge.  He  kept  a  circulating-library, 
of  dirty,  worn-out  books,  quack-medicines,  job- 
printing,  and  children's  toy  kind  of  shop.  The 
same  man  had  exactly  the  same  sort  of  estab- 
lishment, a  few  years  since,  at  the  corner  of 
Frederic  and  Market-streets,  Baltimore,  where 
he  died;  the  members  of  hi-s  large  family,  who 
shared  Munden's  lollipop,  are  now  all  engaged 
in  increasing  the  population  of  different  parts  of 
the  Union. 

"Sandford,  it  will  only  be  necessary  to  go 
through  my  scenes — who's  the  Harry  Dornton  V 
1  was  introduced.  Surveying  me  from  head  to 
fooi  with  a  serio-comic  look  from  such  an  eye  ! 
setting  at  defiance  description,  and  the  shade  of 
enormous  shaggy  eyebrows,  one  of  which  would 
be  amply  sufficient  to  make  two  pair,  even  for 
Billy  Wood.* 

"  Are  you  perfect,  sir,  in  the  words  1"  said 
Munden. 

"Gluite,  sir,"  I  confidently  replied. 

"  You  will  find  Mr.  Cowell,"  said  the  mana- 
ger, "though  a  young  actor,  very  attentive  to 
any  business  you  may  instruct  him  in,  when  ex- 
plained to  him  in  the  manner  you  are  so  well 
aware  a  gentleman  expects." 

Probably  the  hint  was  superfluous,  for  I  ever 
received  from  that  great  actor  the  most  marked 
attention.     The  day  was  so  far  advanced  that 


*  William  B.  Wood,  Esq.,  formerly  manager,  and  still  a 
member,  of  the  Chestnut-street  Theatre,  Philadelphia, has 
remarkably  long  eyebrows,  amounting  to  a  deformity;  but 
of  which  nature  has  very  kindly  made  him  excessively 
proud;  tins  amiable 'weakness,  as  well  as  his  passion  for 
Bpeaking  "  an  infinite  deal  of  nothing,"  is  notorious  among 
his  friends  ;  and  'tis  said  "once  upon  a  time,"  finding  him- 
self a  stranger  on  a  Steamboat,  and  m  vam  ndeavouring  to 
get  into  a  "  fine   vralhrr"  conversation  with  a  gentleman 

whose  acquaintance  be  was  anxious  to  make,  after  failing 
in  several  efforts  to  get  a  "  talk,"  at  length  abruptly  ac- 
costed him  with,  "I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,  but  by—,  sir,  this 
is  a  perfect  natural  curiosity— a  genuine  N.  K.  I  pli 
you  my  honour,  sir,  I  just  pulled  this  extraordinary  hair 
out  of  my  eyebrow,"  holding  his  hands  up  to  the  light, 
about  five  inches  apart.  He  carried  bis  point,  and  had  a 
most  delicious  hairy  discussion  on  the  merits  of  that  orna- 
ment, or  inconvenience  totbe  human  form  divine,  Irom  the 
crown  of  the  head  to  the  first  joint  of  the  great  toe. 


PASSED    AMONG    THE    PLAYERS. 


21 


we  couldn't  repeat  our  rehearsal,  and  lie  invited 
me  to  take  a  chop  with  him  at  his  lodgings,  and 
after  dinner  go  over  the  scenes  we  were  together 
in;  which,  tor  the  sake  of  such  instruction,  I 
readily  agreed  to  —  it  was  literally  a  chop;  we 
had  one  a  piece,  and  a  single  sole  between  us 
(a  very  delicate  flat  fish  about  the  size  of  the  sole 
of  your  boot,  both  cheap  and  plentiful  at  Ply- 
mouth), and  a  pint  of  porter,  of  which  f  declined 
partaking,  apparently  to  his  great  satisfaction. 
The  whole  dinner,  which  he  praised  both  as  to 
quantity  and  quality,  he  explained  to  me  with 
great  glee,  "Had  only  cost  a  shilling:  sixpence 
for  the  chops,  three  ha'pence  for  the  fish,  and  the 
remainder  for  the  bread,  potatoes,  and  porter." 
The  extreme  parsimony  of  this  most  delicious 
actor  induced  every  one  to  believe  he  was  enor- 
mously rich,  but  at  his  death  his  fortune  was 
proved  much  below  the  general  calculation. 
Even  his  meanness  was  smothered  in  fun.  He 
once  told  me  in  the  Drury  Lane  Green-room, 
very  seriously,  that  he  had  that  morning  adver- 
tised his  grounds  for  rent,  and  discharged  his  gar- 
dener, because  he  had  met  a  girl  crying  radishes 
"  at  three  bunches  a  penny  !"  On  asking  a  lady 
for  the  loan  of  an  umbrella  one  wet  day,  she  re- 
torted, "  Why,  Mr.  Munden,  why  don't  you  buy 
one  1  you  are  rich  enough." 

"My  dear,  I've  got  a  bran  new  one  at  home, 
I've  had  these  two  years." 

"  Then  why  don't  you  use  it,  sir!" 
"  My  dear  child,  if  I  brought  it  out  it  would 
be  sure  to  rain,  and  I  should  get  it  wet  and  spoil 
the  beauty  of  it." 

Till  the  hour  of  going  to  the  theatre  we  went 
over  the  scenes  again  and  again;  my  willing- 
ness to  receive  instruction  appeared  to  give 
him  great  satisfaction,  and  he  prophesied  a 
glorious  reward  for  my  perseverance,  and  in- 
stanced himself  as  a  proof  of  the  consequence  : 
"who  could  doubt  he  practised  what  he  preached, 
when,  in  defiance  of  the  labour  before  him  for 
the  night,  and  the  fatigue  of  a  journey,  he,  with 
all  the  enthusiasm  of  youth,  for  hours  directed 
the  support  he  required  in  his  great  character, 
which  he  had  then  played  probably  two  hundred 
times  1 

He  was,  in  my  opinion,  the  best  comedian  I 
ever  saw.  He  identified  himself  with  a  charac- 
ter, and  never  lost  sight  of  it — his  pathos  went 
to  the  heart  at  once,  and  his  humour  was  irre- 
sistible. In  his  latter  years  he  was  accused  of 
sacrificing  too  much  for  the  sake  of  gaining 
applause-,  but  I  believe  he  endeavoured  to  alter 
his  pure  and  natural  style  to  suit  the  declining 
taste  of  his  auditors,  and  compete  with  the  car- 
icaturists by  whom  he  was  surrounded.  In 
playing  Ralph  to  his  Old  Brumagem,  at  Drury 
Lane.  I  objected  to  some  business  he  pointed 
out,  as  being  unnatural.  "  Unnatural !"  said  he, 
with  a  sneer :  "  that  has  been  my  mistake  for 
years.  Nature  be  d — ;  make  the  people  laugh." 
But  he's  gone  !  and  if  there  is  any  fun  in  the 
next  world,  he's  in  the  midst  of  it. 

"  Sic  transit  gloria  ATunden." 

By  great  industry  I  rapidly  improved,  and  be- 
fore the  close  of  the  season  I  had  become  a  very 
useful  performer  at  any  rate.  My  connexion  as 
an  artist  was  of  great  service  to  me  at  my  bene- 
fits, and  I  had  two  really  "  overflowing  houses;" 
the  last,  "  By  desire  of  the  officers  of  his  majes- 
ty's ship  York,"  nearly  the  whole  of  the  crew, 
with  the  band  at  their  head  and  the  marines 
bringing  up  the  rear,  marched  to  the  theatre, 


crowding  the  pit  and  upper  portion  of  the  house. 
The  play  was  the  Iron  Chest,  which  I  had  se- 
lected for  the  sake  of  acting  "Wilford,"  to  per- 
form  which  character  I  had  been  sighing  all  [he 
season ;  but  Moore,  the  comedian  who  was  to 
play  Sampson,  thought  proper  to  be  taken  ill  at 
four  o'clock  in  "the  posteriors  of  the  day,"  as 
Shakspeare  hath  it,  and  Sandford  urged  me  to 
undertake  the  part,  as  the  best  apology  to  offer 
to  my  friends  instead  of  this  general  favourite. 
Laughter  and  applause,  no  doubt,  much  more 
than  I  deserved,  rewarded  my  first  effort  in  low 
comedy;  and  all  declared  it  was  the  line  of  busi- 
ness in  which  I  was  destined  to  excel ;  and  I 
thought  so  too ;  but  for  the  next  six  months  I 
had  engaged  for  the  amiable  and  interesting,  at 
fifteen  shillings  per  week,  at  the  Theatre  Royal, 
Plymouth,  so  that  my  comical  propensities  had 
to  do  penance  for  that  period,  at  any  rate. 

During  the  performance  that  evening,  a  re- 
quest was  made  by  an  officer  that  one  of  the 
crew,  who  had  written  a  comic  song,  might  be 
permitted  to  sing  it,  which  was  readily  granted  ; 
and  between  the  acts  a  fine  black-whiskered,  six- 
feet-high  lellow  made  "ds  appearance,  amid  the 
cheers  of  his  shipmates,  and  sung  at  least  fifteen 
verses,  each  ending  with  a  Toll-loU-dc-i<l<hj-liddy- 
loli-loli-loll.  The  composition  consisted  of  a  long 
string  of  sailor's  wit  at  the  expense  of  Poll,  and 
Sue,  and  Jack,  and  Ben,  and  so  on,  which  ap- 
peared to  be  greatly  relished  by  those  who  under- 
stood the  joke.  At  length  he  came  to  a  pause — 
looked  embarrassed — hitched  up  his  trousers — 
turned  his  quid — scratched  his  head — and  said, 
"  Shipmates,  you  know  there's  two  more  verses, 
but  they  are  not  fit  to  sing  before  the  ladies  ;  they 
are  rather  b— .  Toll-loll-de-iddy-tiddy-toll-loll- 
loll,"  and  away  he  went.  Either  as  a  tribute 
to  his  modesty,  or  in  the  hope  of  hearing  the 
other  two  verses,  he  received  a  general  Encore  I 
from  all  parts  of  the  house;  but  at  the  same 
place  he  stopped  again,  made  his  bow,  and  said, 
"  You  know  I  told"  you  why  I  left  oil'  here  be- 
fore," and  quitted  the  stage  amid  shouts  of 
laughter. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

"  Meantime.  I  would  not  always  dread  the  bowl,. 
Nor  every  trespass  shun.     The  feverish  strife, 
Roused  by  the  rare  debauch,  subdues,  expels 
The  loitering  crudities  that  burden  life  ; 
And  like  a  torrent,  full  and  rapid,  clears 
Th'  obstructed  tubes.     Besides,  this  restless  world 
Is  full  of  chances,  which  by  habit's  power 
To  learn  to  bear  is  easier  than  to  shun." 

Armstrong's  Art  of  Preserving  Healt/i. 

The  borough-town  of  Plymouth  is  about  two 
miles  from  Dock,  and  literally  connected  with 
that  (then)  densely-populated  depository  for  sail- 
ors and  soldiers  of  every  grade,  from  admirals 
and  generals  down  to  the  after-guard  and  awk- 
ward squad;  marines,  ma-tes,  Jew  pedlers,  pick- 
pockets, blackguards,  and  bum-boat  women,  and 
other  ladies  with  a  claim  to  only  half  the  title, 
by  a  long  lane  with  no  turning,  called  "  Stone- 
house,"  on  either  side  of  which,  leaving  room  for 
a  barracks  on  the  right,  was  then  a  row  of  small 
houses  whose  inhabitants  were  notoriously  of 
the  feminine  gender.  For  the  information  of 
the  curious  in  topographical  knowledge,  I  must 
state,  that  Dock  can  now  boast  of  a  mayor  and 
corporation,  and  the  name  of  Devenport,  but  in 
my  day  its  fame  emanated  from 

"  The  armaments  which  thunder-strike  the  walls 
Of  rock-built  cities,  bidding  nation's  quake, 


22 


THIRTY    YEARS 


And  monarchs  tremble  in  their  capitals  ; 
The  oak  leviathans,  whose  huge  ribs  inaEe 
Their  clay  creator,  the  vaiu  title  take 
Oflord  of  thee  (the  ocean)  and  arbiter  of  war." 

The  Plymouth  Theatre,  at  Frankfort  Gate, 
by  courtesy  called  Royal,  because  the  Duke  of 
Clarence  had  once  entered  it,  probably  without 
paying  for  his  ticket,  was  then  conducted  by 
Air.  Foot,  in  connexion  with  Mr.  Percy  Farren, 
of  the  Dublin  Theatre,  whom  I  never  saw.  His 
son,  George  Percy  Farren,  is  now  in  this  coun- 
try, and  in  the  same  cast  of  characters,  I  think 
quite  equal  to  his  uncle  of  the  London  theatres. 
Foot  had  been  a  captain  in  the  army,  and  look- 
ed like  a  gentleman  of  the  roue  school.  Talking 
of  looks,  he  had  one  real  eye  for  service,  and  an- 
other, of  glass,  for  show ;  if  he  got  gouged  in 
■love  or  war  I  never  learned,  but  a  side  glance 
conveyed  the  most  irresistibly  comical  kind  of 
squint  ever  invented  by  art  or  nature.  His  man- 
ners were  agreeable,  and  what  is  falsely  called 
gentlemanly,  but  his  mind  was  most  depraved  ; 
all  moral  obligations  he  set  at  defiance,  and  his 
charming  daughter,  innocent  and  young,  was 
even  then  in  training,  by  her  father,  for  the  life 
of  splendid  infamy  in  which  she  moved  for  years, 
with  pity's  finger  pointing  at  her  fallen  state. 
Poor  Maria  !  A  few  days  before  I  left  England 
I  met  her  with  a  servant  following  in  Colonel 
Berkley's  livery :  "  She  was  beautiful,  and  if 
ever  I  felt  the  full  force  of  an  honest  heartache, 
it  was  the  moment  I  saw  her." 

As  I  before  observed,  my  teaching  put  me  in 
possession  of  a  handsome  income;  I  therefore 
readily  entered  into  a  bond  with  Foot  to  receive 
only  fifteen  shillings  per  week,  and  play  nothing 
but  good  parts;  thereby  curtailing  my  utility  as 
an  actor,  and  increasing  my  leisure. 

The  salary  for  each  performer  was  put  up 
weekly  by  the  treasurer,  sealed  and  directed,  and 
handed  round  to  the  company,  during  the  re- 
hearsal, by  Mrs.  Foot.  After  I  had  been  in  this 
employ  a  short  time,  I  had  (in  consequence  of 
not  being  wanted  at  the  theatre  during  this  show- 
er of  gold)  allowed  my  pay  to  accumulate  for 
five  or  six  weeks;  but  one  day,  after  making  my 
bow  to  the  lady  of  the  house,  and  putting  my 
little  arrears  in  my  pocket,  was  walking  off', 
when  Mrs.  Foot  stopped  me,  in  evident  embar- 
rassment, and  said, 

"Mr.  Cowell,  I  have  made  a  mistake;  be 
kind  enough  to  let  me  have  that  money  again." 
I  immediately  restored  to  her  (as  I  then 
thought)  the  whole  of  the  packets ;  in  a  few 
minutes,  the  call-boy  handed  me  (as  I  supposed) 
the  amount  due,  in  one  parcel ;  but,  on  gaining 
my  lodgings,  I  discovered  1  had  unknowingly 
retained  one  of  the  little  billets  she  at  first  gave 
me,  directed  and  dated  two  or  three  weeks  gone 
by,  and  containing,  to  my  astonishment,  twenty- 
five  shillings,  and  the  larger  one  the  whole  of  the 
balance  due  me,  for  the  time,  at  the  rate  of  fif- 
teen shillings  per  week.  In  the  evening  I  called 
on  the  treasurer  and  explained  the  circumstance, 
and  presented  him  with  the  five-and- twenty  shil- 
ling parcel  I  had  unintentionally  retained  ;  he  to 
my  disgust  assured  me  that  my  salary  had  been 
always  charged  on  the  books  at  one  pound  five ; 
that  he  had  regularly  enclosed  me  that  amount, 
and  such  was  the  sum  named  as  paid  to  me  on 
the  balance-sheet,  copied  by  him  every  week 
and  sent  to  Percy  Farren  at  Dublin.  T  kept 
my  own  counsel ;  played,  when  I  did  play,  very 
good  parts,  and  got  the  twenty-five  sealed  up 
every  Saturday. 
Once  Foot  said, 


"  Cowell,  you're  a  queer  fellow;  you  have 
never  taken  any  notice  of  my  raising  your  sal- 
ary." 

"Yes,  I  am  rather  queer,"  I  replied,  with  a 
laugh.  He  gave  me  a  look  with  his  real  eye 
over  his  nose,  right  through  the  glass  one,  and 
walked  away. 

"  What  do  you  smile  for  in  that  satirical  man- 
ner 1"  has  been  often  asked  of  me,  after  listening 
to  an  eulogium  on  "dear  Mrs.  Foot  being  so 
kind  as  to  save  one  the  trouble  of  going  to  the 
treasury,  and  handing  one  one's  salary  in  such 
a  ladylike  manner." 

The  Dock  Theatre  closed  on  a  Saturday 
night,  and  Plymouth  opened  on  the  Monday  fol- 
lowing, with  the  comedy  of  the  "  Heir  at  Law," 
as  best  calculated  to  display  the  strength  of  the 
company,  and  I  was  cast  the  good  part  of  Henry 
Moreland ;  but,  on  the  Sunday  intervening, 
Sandford  gave  a  dinner  to  Foot,  my  manager 
that  was  to  be,  Vandenhoff,  Moore,  D'Arcey, 
and  myself,  and  a  few  private  friends.  Though 
a  very  retiring,  business-like  man  in  his  mode 
of  conducting  his  professional  duties,  he  was  a 
bon-vivant,  in  the  fullest  sense  of  the  word,  in 
his  own  house.  Wine  of  the  best  was  passed 
rapidly  round  ;  speeches  were  attempted  till  we 
were  all  speechless ;  songs  were  sung  till  we 
couldn't  remember  the  first  line;  and  the  mana- 
ger's, our  own.  and  everybody's  health  drunk, 
till  we  were  too  "far  gone"  to  swallow.  My 
Scotch  friend  D'Arcey,  well  seasoned  with  usque- 
baugh in  the  Highlands,  and  myself,  were  the 
last  to  retire.  I  make  it  a  rule,  up  to  the  present 
hour,  to  be  last  at  a  feast,  whatever  I  am  at  a 
fray.  D'Arcey  couldn't  remember  the  beginning 
of  Burns's  ballad,  but  all  he  could  recollect  I  as- 
sisted him  in  singing : 

"We  are  na'  fu',  we're  na  that  fu', 
Only  a  wee  drap  in  our  e'e," 

and  that's  all  I  do  recollect  of  the  matter,  but 
was  told  I  was  found,  long  after  daylight  the 
next  morning,  seated  on  a  turned-up  washtub, 
drinking  gin  with  a.  dozen  damp  women  em- 
ployed in  washing  sheets  and  table-linen  in  Gen- 
eral Nelson's  coach-house.  I  went  to  bed  in- 
stead of  the  rehearsal,  and  sent  the  plain  state  of 
the  case  to  the  manager,  and  Polly  Lambert,  as 
he  was  most  appropriately  called  by  the  gods, 
for  he  was  a  very  ladylike  man,  played  the  part. 
I,  of  course,  concluded  I  had  forfeited  my  en- 
gagement, and  I  think  it  more  than  probable 
I  should,  but  for  the  weekly  profit  I  was  destined 
to  prove  to  the  "  wide-awake"  partner,  while  the 
other  was  sleeping  at  Dublin. 

The  second  morning,  while  sipping  chicken- 
broth  and  reading  "  Taylor  on  Drunkenness" — 
by-the-by,  a  more  philosophical  and  physiologi- 
cal work  than  any  temperance  pamphlet  pro- 
duced for  five-and-twenty  years — I  received  a 
pleasant  note  from  Foot,  and  the  next  morning  I 
went  to  the  theatre.  He  appeared  to  think  it 
an  excellent  joke. 

"I  know  my  friend  George  of  old,"  said  my 
'he's  a  d —  high  fellow  in  his 
;  a  regular  Charles  Surface,  though 


own 

demure  as  a  Joseph  in  his  business.     By  ■ 

I  think  you  got  off  very  well ;  I  knew  the  con- 
sequences, and  made  my  escape  about  ten 
o'clock,  for  the  d —  rascal  laid  me  up  for   a 

week  once,  and,  by ,  I'm  called  an  honest 

four-bottle  man." 

The  company  was  more  efficient  than  the 
first  I  was  associated  with,  the  best  portion  of 
which  had  been  selected,  and  several  of  consid- 


PASSED    AMONG    THE    PLAYERS. 


23 


erable  talent  added  to  the  list,  among  whom 
was  my  friend  Barnes,  even  then  called  "  Old 
Jack,"  and  "Old  Barney,"  and  he  admired  the 
title  then,  for  so  he  used  to  designate  himself  in 
his  benefit-bills;  but  now,  when  he  has  an  hon- 
est claim  to  that  venerable  appellation,  he  don't 
apply  it  to  himself,  nor  appear  quite  so  well 
pleased  at  being  named  so  by  others.  His  ami- 
able wife,  in  addition  to  her  well-known  talent, 
was  then  the  most  sylphlike,  beautiful  little 
creature  in  existence.  Ye  gods !  how  awfully 
I  was  in  love  with  her  !  Platonically,  of  course, 
I  imagined  then  ;  but,  in  thinking  over  the  events 
ef  that  period,  I  confess  I  recollect  catching  my- 
self accusing  Anna  of  being  a  little  too  tall. 

Byron  had  not  then  made  his  Don  Juan  ex- 
cuse for  inconstancy,  but  I  was  very  much  of 
the  same  opinion  at  that  time,  in  prose,  that 

"  That  which 
Men  call  inconstancy  is  nothing-  more 

Than  adoration  ;  due  where  nature's  rich 
Profusion  with  young  beauty  covers  o'er 

Some  favoured  object  ;  and,  as  in  the  niche, 
A  lovely  statue  we  almost  adore, 

This  sort. of  adoration  of  the  real 

Is  but  a  heightening  of  the  beau  ideal." 

But,  then,  more  than  once  I  remember  wish- 
ing most  earnestly  that  my  friend  Jack  was  di- 
vorced, or  dead,  and  decently  buried — but  it's  all 
over  now.  What  an  abominable  contrivance  this 
t 


getting  old  is 


Young  Betty,  the  Roscius  that  had  been,  was 
our  first  star.  He  was  of  my  age,  within  a 
month  one  way  or  the  other;  a  great,  lubberly, 
overgrown,  fat-voiced,  good-tempered  fellow, 
with  very  little  talent,  and  just  tolerated  as  a 
man  by  those  who  were  ashamed  to  confess  they 
were  deceived  in  thinking  him  a  divinity  when 
a  boy. 

I  have  seen  many  infant  phenomena  in  the 
course  of  my  theatrical  career,  and  witnessed  the 
"drillings  and  trainings;"  and  if  the  humane 
Martin  had  known  as  much  as  I  do,  he  would 
have  included  these  little  prodigies  in  his  act 
"for  the  suppression  of  cruelty  to  animals." 

I  once  had  a  conversation  with  a  iellow  who 
exhibited  a  learned  dog  at  the  Adelphi  Theatre, 
and  he  assured  me  that  he  had  found,  from  ex- 
perience, that  the  description  of  animal  best  fitted 
lor  his  purpose  was,  as  he  expressed  it,  "A  cur 
that's  not  good  for  nothing  else  in  the  whole 
world ;"  and  the  poor  beast  I  saw  playing  cards 
and  casting  accounts  fully  came  up  in  appear- 
ance to  his  idea  of  the  necessary  requisites:  even 
Burns's  "  Tanted  tyke,  tho'  e'er  saeduddie."  had 
some  fun  in  his  composition,  but  the  pitiable 
wretch  I  saw  "  get  all  the  applause"  did  not  de- 
serve even  to  be  called  a  dog — a  long-backed, 
ehort-legged,  sleek-haired,  ungentlemanly-look- 
ing  thing,  went  slouching  round  a  circle  with  his 
stupid-looking  eyes  half  closed,  and  his  tail  be- 
tween his  legs;  had  he  been  a  calculating  boy, 
he  would  have  done  precisely  the  same,  only,  for 
the  want  of  a  tail,  he  would  have  had  his  hands 
in  his  breeches  pockets.  Astonishing  animals 
and  astonishing  children  are  schooled  in  exactly 
the  same  way — extreme  and  continual  rewards 
and  punishments — raw  beef  and  a  whip  for  the 
one,  and  sugar-plums  and  a  rod-in-pickie  for  the 
other.  It  cannot  be  denied  that  there  are  many 
instances  of  precocious  genius,  both  in  the  theatri- 
cal world  and  out  of  it,  and  if  such  favoured 
creatures  were  left  solely  to  nature,  they  would 
be  always  pleasing,  though  never  astonishing  in 
after  life ;  talent  and  time  must  walk  hand  in 
hand  to  form  the  clever  man.     But  should  a 


child  unfortunately  "sing  a  little  song,"  or  imi- 
tate some  caricature  actor,  God  help  the  little 
creature!  especially  if  the  parent  be  a  player; 
and  I  have  generally  found  these  scions  are  of 
some  "  stick,"  not  fit,  as  Garrick  coarsely  said, 
"to  carry  guts  to  a  bear:"  they  are  instantly 
taught  to  play  on  the  pianoforte,  and  the  drum, 
and  the  fiddle,  and  the  flageolet,  and  jig  about  at 
the  same  time  (as  Ellen  Tree's  sister  used  to  do), 
and  fencing,  and  dancing,  and  everything  but 
reading  and  writing,  till  their  poor  susceptible 
little  brains  are  so  overwhelmed  with  the  mass 
of  knowledge  crammed  into  their  little  box,  that 
no  wonder  they  sink  under  the  weight  of  their 
own  pressure;  and  if  they  live  long  enough, 
prove  to  be  extremely  stupid  men  and  women. 

So  as  some  bud  which  nature  in  a  freak  bids 
to  peep  forth  before  its  usual  time,  if  forced  and 
nurtured  by  artificial  means,  soon  sickens, 
droops,  and  withers,  and  in  the  excess  of  its  own 
luxuriance,  dies,  and  is  forgotten;  but  if  left  in 
the  care  alone  of  Him  who  made  it,  it  would 
have  bloomed  its  bright  and  brief  career,  and  its 
sweetness  would  be  remembered  and  regretted. 

It  is  necessary  to  state  that  about  this  period 
I  got  married  by  accident — but  not  to  Anna. 


CHAPTER  X. 

"  How  changed  since  last  her  speaking  rye 
Glanced  gladness  round  the  glittering  room 
Where  high-born  men  were  proud  to  wait — 
Where  beauty  watch'd  to  imitate 

Her  gentle  voice — her  lovely  mien — 
And  gather  from  her  air  and  gait 

The  graces  of  its  queen  ! 
Now — what  is  she  J" 

Parisixa. 

Charles  Young  succeeded  Betty ;  a  delicious 
change ;  equal  to  a  squeeze  of  lemon  after  a  dose 
of  jalap — a  perfect  gentleman  and  most  amiable 
man.  I  have  often  heard  him  called  an  imita- 
tor of  Kemble,  but  I  never  saw  any  resem- 
blance ;  it  is  true,  his  good  sense  made  him  be- 
lieve he  had  not  the  genius  to  soar  above  his 
great  coadjutor,  and  he  prudently  contented  him- 
self to  adopt  his  conceptions  ;  if  you  saw  Kemble 
in  Hamlet  one  night,  and  Young  the  next,  you 
would  discover  no  beauties  stepped  over,  and  nc 
new  ones  displayed;  but  all  that  Kemble  had 
done  for  the  character  would  be  done  by  Young, 
twenty-four  hours  after  him,  in  every  sense  of 
the  expression.  During  his  sojourn  at  Ply- 
mouth, he  played  several  characters  to  prepare 
himself  to  sustain  them  at  Covent  Garden,  among 
them  Richard  and  Sir  Giles  Overreach;  of  course 
he  was  worse  than  Kemble  was  in  both  of  them, 
and  I  don't  know  if  he  ever  attempted  their  mur- 
der in  London. 

For  the  sake  of  comparison,  1  presume,  soon 
after  Young  departed,  Foot  played  the  Stranger. 
I  was  Francis;  and  a  very  bad  actor,  but  a  tal- 
ented, eccentric  man,  of  the  name  of  Reymes, 
the  Tobias.  The  house  was  very  thinly  attend- 
ed, and  on  such  occasions  actors  in  country 
theatres  are  very  likely  to  try  more  to  please  one 
another  than  the  audience. 

"  Nay,  should  I  lose  my  son,  still  I  should  not 
wish  to  die.  Here  is  the  hut  where  I  was  born. 
Here  is  the  tree  that  grew  with  me;  and — I  am 
almost  ashamed  to  confess  it — I  have  a  dog 
which  I  love,"  he  should  have  said;  instead  of 
which,  he  substituted,  "a  duck  I  love." 

This  unexpected  alteration,  of  course,  made 
me  laugh. 

"  Smile  if  you  please,"  he  continued,  with  per- 


24 


THIRTY   YEARS 


feet  gravity,  "but  hear  me.  My  benefactress 
once  came  to  my  hut  herself.  The  poor  bird, 
unused  to  see  the  form  of  elegance  enter  the  door 
of  penury,  quacked  at  her.  '  I  wonder  you  keep 
that  waddling,  ngly  final,  Mr.  Tobias,'  said  she. 
■  Ah,  madam/  I  replied,  '  if  I  part  with  my  dude, 
are  you  sure  that  anything  else  will  love  meV 
She  was  pleased  with  my  answer." 

He  was  excellent  company,  and  being  very 
fond  of  a  ramble  in  the  country,  would  frequent- 
ly attend  me  in  my  sketching  expeditions.  I  was 
employed  one  day  in  making  a  drawing  of  Stoke 
Church — strange,  too,  that  I  should  desire  a  like- 
ness of  that  matrimonial  manufactory,  for  it  was 
there  I  was  bound  in  the  holy  ties  of  wedlock; 
but  it  was  very  picturesque  and  pleasing  on  pa- 
per, for  all  that.  Several  times  I  was  disturbed 
in  my  occupation,  to  look  round  to  inquire  the 
cause  of  a  crash,  every  now  and  then,  like  the 
breaking  of  glass ;  and  at  length  I  caught  a 
glimpse  of  Reymes,  slyly  jerking  a  pebble,  under 
his  arm,  through  one  of  the  windows.  I  recol- 
lected twice,  in  walking  home  with  him,  late  at 
night,  from  the  theatre,  his  quietly  taking  a  brick- 
bat from  out  of  his  coat-pocket  and  deliberately 
smashing  it  through  the  casement  of  the  Town 
Hall,  and  walking  on  and  continuing  his  con- 
versation as  if  nothing  had  happened.  Crack  ! 
again.  I  began  to  suspect  an  aberration  of  in- 
tellect, and  said, 

"  Revmes,  for  heaven's  sake  what  are  you 
doing  V 

"  Showing  my  gratitude,"  said  he;  and  crack ! 
went  another. 

"Showing  the  devil!"  said  I;  "you're  break- 
ing the  church  windows." 

"Why,  I  know  it — certainly;  what  do  you 
stare  at?"  said  the  eccentric.  "  I  broke  nearly 
every  pane  three  weeks  ago — I  couldn't  hit 
them  all.  After  you  have  broken  a  good  many, 
the  stones  are  apt  to  go  through  the  holes  you've 
already  made.  They  only  finished  mending 
them  the  day  before  yesterday;  I  came  out  and 
asked  the  men  when  they  were  likely  to  get 
done;"  and  clatter!  clatter!  went  another. 

"  That's  excellent !"  said  he,  in  great  glee. 
"  I  hit  the  frame  just  in  the  right  place ;  I  knock- 
ed out  two  large  ones  that  time." 

"  Reymes,"  said  I,  with  temper,  "if  you  don't 
desist,  I  must  leave  off  my  drawing." 

"Well,"  said  he.  "only  this  one,"  and  crack! 
it  went;  "there!  I've  done.  Since  it  annoys 
you,  I'll  come  by  myself  to-morrow  and  finish 
the  job ;  it's  the  only  means  in  my  power  of  pro- 
ving my  gratitude." 

"  Proving  your  folly,"  said  I.  "Why,  Reymes, 
you  must  be  out  of  your  senses." 

"  Why,  did  I  never  tell  you  V  said  he.  "  Oh  ! 
then,  I  don't  wonder  at  your  surprise.  I  thought 
I  had  told  you.  I  had  an  uncle,  a  glazier,  who 
died,  and  left  me  twenty  pounds,  and  this  mourn- 
ing-ring; and  I  therefore  have  made  it  a  rule  to 
break  the  windows  of  all  public  places  ever 
since.  The  loss  is  not  worth  speaking  of  to  the 
parish,  and  puts  a  nice  bit  of  money  inthe  pock- 
et of  some  poor  dealer  in  putty,  with  probably  a 
large  family  to  support.  And  now  I've  explain- 
ed, I  presume  you  have  no  objection  to  my  pro- 
ceeding in  paying  what  I  consider  a  debt  of  grat- 
itude due  to  my  dead  uncle." 

"Hold!  Reymes,"  said  I,  as  he  was  picking 
up  a  pebble.  "  How  do  you  know  but  the  poor 
fellow  with  the  large  family  may  not  undertake 
to  repair  the  windows  by  contract,  at  so  much  a 
year  or  month'?" 


"Eh!  egad,  I  never  thought  of  that,"  said  the- 
whimsical,  good-hearted  creature.  '•  I'll  suspend 
operations  until  I've  made  the  inquiry,  and  if 
I've  wronged  him  I'll  make  amends." 

Being  acceptable  to  the  audience,  and  a  very 
youthful  appearance,  the  manager  was  induced 
to  cast  me  for  George  Barnwell,  "though,  heav- 
en knows,  against  my  own  inclining;"  for  I  nev- 
er had  a  particle  of  sentimental  tragedy  in  my 
composition.  On  reading  the  character,  I  was 
disgusted  with  the  "  fool,  as  well  as  villain." 
My  whole  life  had  been  passed  in  the  unrestrain- 
ed society  of  young  men,  but  I  never  met  any- 
thing like  a  George  Barnwell  in  any  mess  I  ever 
belonged  to;  and  I  felt  my  incapacity  to  invent 
the  delineation  of  a  character  I  did  not  believe 
ever  existed  in  nature ;  and  I  entreated  Foot  to 
take  me  out  of  the  part.  But  my  objections  ap- 
peared to  him  extremely  comical ;  no  prayers  I 
had  "  wit  enough  to  make"  could  move  him,  and 
he  persisted,  I  believe  for  the  sake  of  the  joke, 
that  I  should  perform  the  character.  As  usual, 
I  had  waited  till  the  last  hour  to  swallow  the  bit- 
ter morsel,  and  on  the  day  it  was  to  be  perform- 
ed, I  was  fuming  and  fretting  up  and  down  the 
room,  endeavouring  to  get  the  mawkish  lan- 
guage into  my  head,  when  an  old  messmate,  an 
assistant-surgeon,  whom  I  had  not  seen  for  two 
years,  paid  me  a  visit.  I  excused  myself  from 
attempting  to  entertain  him,  by  explaining  the 
torture  I  was  enduring. 

"Why  don't  you  send  word  you're  illl"  said 
the  doctor. 

"  Why,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  I,  "  I  have  made 
so  many  objections,  that  Foot  would  suspect  at 
once  that  I  was  hoaxing  him,  and  be  here  on  the 
instant." 

"Give  me  a  pen  and  ink,"  said  my  old  com- 
panion. "I've  saved  many  a  good  fellow  from 
disagreeable  duty  in  the  same  way — there — send 
that,  and  a  shilling,  to  an  apothecary,  and  let 
me  know  about  half  an  hour  before  you  want  to 
be  very  sick,  and  I'll  make  you  so,  without  do- 
ing you  any  harm ;  go  myself  as  your  physician 
to  Foot,  as  you  call  him — bring  him  here  to  be 
convinced  of  the  dangerous  state  you  are  in — lay 
it  all  to  excessive  anxiety  of  mind,  and  make 
him  believe  you  won't  live  the  night  out.  So 
throw  away  the  book,  and  let's  have  a  glass  of 
grog  together.  I  met  Spencer,  and  he  told  me 
who  you  were,  and  where  to  find  you." 

The  plan  succeeded  to  admiration,  and,  thank 
Heaven,  I  have  never  played,  or  read,  that  worse 
than  an  emetic  since. 

Wilson  the  rope-dancer,  long  since  forgotten 
by  most  thinking  beings,  was  then  all  the  rage; 
crowding  his  own  pockets  and  the  houses  wher- 
ever he  went;  but.  in  my  opinion,  he  was  very 
inferior  to  John  Cline,  now  in  this  country,  and 
christened  in  German,  very  appropriately,  "t/ic 
little  gentleman  rope-dancer,"  by  Charles  Gilfert, 
who  took  out  the  first  patent  for  theatrical  hum- 
buggerv  in  the  United  States. 

At  about  this  period  the  British  government 
took  it  into  their  heads  that  the  Duke  of  Clar- 
i  ence — having,  as  it  was  supposed,  in  all  proba- 
!  bilitv,  sowed  his  wild  oats,  should  take  unto 
himself  a  lawfully- wedded  wife,  leave  off  break- 
ing the  ninth  commandment,  and  use  his  roy- 
al highness's  best  efforts  to  produce  an  heir 
to  the  throne  in  the  event  of  its  ever  corn- 
in?  to  his  turn  to  supply  such  a  deficiency. 
Whether  the  novelty  of  the  thing  tickled  the 
old  gentleman's  vanity,  or  if  "just  for  a  bit  of 
fun,"  as  the  boys  say,  he  consented  to  the  oper- 


PASSED    AMONG   THE   PLAYERS. 


25 


ation,  I  know  not;  but  he  did,  and  thrust  forth 
from  his  protection  the  mother  of  his  children, 
to  earn  a  living,  for  her  few  remaining  days,  by 
the  reputation  of  her  transcendent  talent,  the  ex- 
ercise of  which,  in  its  zenith,  had  literally  sup- 
ported him  in  luxury  for  years.  She  might  well 
exclaim,  with  the  creator  of  her  own  Rosalind, 

"  My  way  of  life 
Is  fall'n  into  the  sear,  the  yellow  leaf: 
And  that  which  should  accompany  old  age, 
As  honour,  lov-e,  obedience,  troops  of  friends, 
I  must  not  look  to  have." 
And  with  probably  just  such  feelings,  slaking 
former  fire,  the  great  Mrs.  Jordan  arrived  at 
Plymouth,  to  play  a  round  of  characters. 

She  opened  in  the  "  Widow  Cheerby ;"  I  was 
the  "  Chanc?  Woodly." 

"Can  you  lau&h,  Mr.  Cowelll"  said  Thalia 
herself.  "  I  used  to  laugh  very  naturally  once  ; 
and  to  laugh  well  is  of  great  importance,  even 
to  a  tragedian." 

"  Upon  my  life,  madam,  I  do  not  know  what  I 
can  do,"  1  replied;  "I  have  only  been  on  the 
stage  five  months." 

"  Then  you  are  a  very  promising  young  man, 
and  your  good  sense  will  make  you  think  you 
don't  know  what  you  can  do  when  you  have 
been  upon  the  stage  five  hundred  years."  I 
laughed.  "  Oh,  I  see  you  can  be  merry,"  con- 
tinued this  Momus  in  petticoats— perhaps  with 
an  aching  heart.  "  The  effect  of  this  scene  de- 
pends entirely  upon  you  ;  keep  it  up,  no  matter 
where  you  are,  and,  scarcely,  what  you  say;  but 
be  most  joyous;  I  want  the  whole  scene  to  go 
well  while  I'm  upon  the  stage ;  I  don't  wish  the 
foolish  people  in  front  to  praise  Mrs.  Jordan 
only;  I  want  them  to  be  intoxicated  with  the 
general  effect ;  but  don't  go  so  far  forward— act 
between  the  second  entrances." 

Munden,  a  short  time  before,  had  particularly 
desired  me  to  get  close  to  the  footlights ;  but  it 
was  very  easy  to  account  for  the  contradiction 
in  the  instructions  of  these  great  artists.  The 
fact  is,  she  was  getting  old ;  dimples  turn  to 
crinkles  after  long  use;  besides,  she  wore  a  wig 
glued  on ;  and,  in  the  heat  of  acting — for  she 
was  always  in  earnest — I  have  seen  some  of  the 
tenacious  compound  with  which  it  was  secured 
trickle  down  a  wrinkle  behind  her  ear;  her  per- 
son, too,  was  extremely  round  and  large,  though 
still  retaining  something  of  the  outline  of  its  for- 
mer grace  ; 

"  And,  after  all,  'twould  puzzle  to  say  where 
It  would  not  spoil  a  charm  to  pare." 

There  is  no  calamity  in  the  catalogue  of  the 

ills  "  that  flesh  is  heir  to"  so  horrible  as  the  ap- 

E roach  of  old  age  to  an  actor.  I  must  beg  it  to 
e  clearly  understood.  1  am  not  speaking  from 
my  own  experience  in  this  matter.  In  the  line 
of  business  I  profess,  a  few  gray  hairs  some- 
times saves  a  wig;  and  a  wrinkle  or  so  super- 
sedes the  trouble  of  marking  the  face,  which  I 
was  obliged  to  do  for  many  years,  till  lately;  but 
juvenile  tragedy,  light  comedy,  and  walking  gen- 
tlemen with  little  pot-bellies,  and  have-been  pretty 
women,  are  really  to  be  pitied.  Fancy  a  lady, 
who  has  had  quires  of  sonnets  made  to  her  eye- 
brow, being  obliged,  at  last,  to  black  it,  play  at 
the  back  of  the  stage  at  night,  sit  with  her  back 
to  the  window  in  a  shady  part  of  the  green-room 
in  the  morning,  and  keep  on  her  bonnet  unless 
she  can  afford  a  very  natural  wig.  As  long  ago 
as  Garrick's  time,  Churchill  tells  us, 

"  All  actors,  too,  upon  the  back  should  bear 
Certificate  of  birth — time  when — place  where. 


For  how  can  critics  rightly  fix  their  worth, 
Unless  they  know  the  minute  of  their  birth* 
An  audience,  too,  deceived,  may  find  too  lute 
That  they  have  clapp'd  an  actor  out  of  date." 

And  in  the  United  States,  at  the  present  day,  the 
very  same  feeling  exists  to  a  nicety.  In  every 
city  on  the  Continent— for  I  have  visited  nearly 
all  of  them— you  will  meet  some  half  dozen  or 
more  Paul  Pn/ish  old  bachelors  to  inquire  of 
you,  "  How  old  is  Fanny  Drake  1"  or,  "  How 
old  is  Fanny  Kemble  1  or  Fanny  Jarnian  1  or 
Fanny  Fitzwilliam  ?  or  Fanny  Hill  V  And  just 
now  they  were  all  full  cry  to  discover  the  birth- 
day of  Fanny  Ellsler.  Ellen  Tree  had  scarcely 
made  the  usual  theatrical  tour  before  dates  were 
collected  in  circumstantial  evidence.  I  played 
with  her  during  an  engagement  in  Baltimore, 
and  was  cross-examined  on  the  subject  by  Col. 
Jack  Thomas,  and  other  amateurs  in  such  mat- 
ters, but  /  didn't  tell. 

In  this  country,  too,  particularly, 

"The  eye  must  be  fed." 
A  finc-looldng  young  man  and  a  beautiful  girl 
can  get  an  excellent  living  on  the  stage  by  such 
material  alone ;  but  when  they  begin  to  get  old, 
God  help  them ! 

Always  an  adorer  of  genius  in  any  shape,  I 
worshipped  Mrs.  Jordan.  Her  encouragement 
fired  my  ambition,  and  her  advice  and  example 
I  adopted  as  my  creed.  Sandford  made  up  a 
company  to  play  with  her  at  Exeter,  and  she  in- 
sisted that  I  should  be  one  of  the  party.  I  felt 
flattered  by  her  good  opinion,  and  gave  up  my 
teaching  for  the  honour,  and  received  a  compen- 
sation for  the  loss  of  my  benefit  at  Plymouth  in. 
an  increased  salary,  of  which  she  paid  the  half. 
Sandford,  she  declared,  "was  like  an  old  horse; 
would  neither  go  with  begging  nor  beating." 
The  fact  is,  he  had  a  style  of  his  own,  and  was 
too  old  to  bear  dictation  or  alter  his  manner.  I 
was  young,  and  would  do  as  she  bid  me,  as  well 
as  I  could,  and  therefore  was  selected  to  play  all 
the  off-parts  to  her  that  it  was  possible  for  me 
to  undertake;  among  others,  Beverly,  in  All  in 
the  Wrong,  to  her  Belinda.  All  the  principal 
actressesthat  I  know  of  always  choose  to  play 
Lady  Restless  in  preference ;  but  when  Mrs. 
Jordan  was  the  Belinda,  you  would  not  remem- 
ber, at  the  end  of  the  comedy,  that  Lady  Restless 
was  even  in  the  piece.  Her  Nell,  in  the  Devil 
to  Pay,  was  a  huge  lump  of  nature  throughout. 
Her  making  the  bed,  smoothing  it  down,  admi- 
ring the  quality  of  the  linen,  and  the  simple  ex- 
pression, "I've  often  heard  of  heaven,  and  this 
is  it,"  defies  description.  I  have  seen  many  Job- 
sons,  but  I  never  saw  but  one  Nell. 

At  the  close  of  the  Exeter  campaign  I  return- 
ed to  Dock,  with  a  better  salary,  and  a  share  of 
the  low  comedy  business  with  Barnes.  I  was 
the  original  Gregory,  in  the  Turn  Out,  in  that 
company ;  the  scene  being  laid  at  Plymouth,  I 
thought  myself  privileged  to  correct  some  inac- 
curacies in  localities  and  other  matters.  Among 
them,  the  author  speaks  of  "  pickled  salmon," 
which  is  an  article  scarcely  known  there  :  I  sub- 
stituted the  very  popular  delicacy,  pickled  cock- 
les, using  the  same  abbreviation  the  old  women 
used,  to  call  them  about  the  streets— it  was  very 
effective  then.  Barnes  was  Restive;  his  wife, 
Marian  Ramsay;  and  Vandenhoff,  Forage,  an 
excellent  actor  in  such  characters.  I  saw  him 
make  his  first  appearance  in  London  afterward, 
at  Covent  Garden,  and  it  was  either  too  bad  or 
too  good  an  imitation  of  John  Kemble  for  the 
public  to  more  than  tolerate  then :  I  have  not 
seen  him  perform  since. 


-26 


THIRTY    YEARS 


Barnes  was  an  overwhelming  favourite  at 
bath  Plymouth  and  Dock ;  he  owned  some  houses 
in  the  neighbourhood,  and  appeared  to  be  settled 
for  life;  and,  therefore,  it  was  no  place  for  my 
advancement  in  the  line  of  business  I  was  de- 
sirous to  sustain.  Out  of  a  number  of  applica- 
tions I  received  three  offers.  One  from  Mac- 
ready,  the  father  of  the  great  actor,  at  Newcastle- 
upon-Tyne;  one  from  Kelly,  Collins,  and  some- 
body else  at  Portsmouth;  and  one  from  Beverly, 
at  Richmond,  in  Surry,  which,  being  the  near- 
est to  London,  I  accepted. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

"  But  tho'  he  was  o'  high  degree, 
The  fient  a  pride  nae  pride  had  he  : 
But  wad  hae  spent  an  hour  caressin', 
Ev'n  w'  a  tinkler  gipsy's  messin': 
At  kirk  or  market,  mill  or  smiddie, 
Nae  tauted  tyke,  tho'  e'er  sae  duddie, 
But  he  wad  stan't,  as  glad  to  see  him, 
And  stroant  an  stanes,  an'  hillocks  wi'  him." 

Twa  Dogs. 

Sir  Lucius  O'Trigger  boasts  of  there  being 
"  very  snug  lying  in  the  Abbey"  at  Bath;  now, 
in  my  day,  I  can  boast  of  there  being  very  snug 
lodging  in  the  churchyard  of  Richmond-upon- 
Thames ;  in  a  very  nice  little  house,  intended,  no 
doubt,  as  the  parsonage,  and  most  conveniently 
situated  for  such  a  purpose,  immediately  oppo- 
site the  door, 

"  Where  sinners  enter,  and  like  saints  come  out — " 

but  be  that  as  it  may,  there  I  took  up  my 
quarters,  and  there  my  first  child  was  born,  now 
nearly  nine  years  older  than  his  father  was  then. 
This  circumstance  makes  the  yard  interesting  to 
me,  while  the  church  must  be  so  to  everybody, 
in  consequence  of  a  brass  plate  in  one  of  the 
aisles :  "  To  the  memory  of  James  Thomson, 
author  of  the  Seasons." 

But  all  this  has  nothing  to  do  with  theatricals. 
But  if  my  readers  will  only  imagine  this  a  "  long 
stop,"  and  walk  with  me  through  a  crowd  of 
cricketers,  and  "  playful  children  just  let  loose 
from  school,"  across  the  "  grassy-vested  green," 
I  will  introduce  them  to  William  R.  Beverley, 
Esq.,  manager  of  the  Theatre  Royal,  Richmond. 

Of  a  great  lubberly  boy  of  eighteen  or  nine- 
teen, who  was  leaning  against  the  stage  door,  in 
a  long  begrimed  apron  and  shirt  sleeves,  with  a 
pound  brush  in  one  hand,  and  half  a  pound  of 
bread  and  butter  in  the  other,  I  made  my  inqui- 
ries. In  addition  to  his  face  being  very  much 
marked  with  the  smallpox,  it  was  well  daubed 
with  blue  and  yellow  paint,  and  its  assumed  ex- 
pression of  "  serious  gravity"  formed  altogether 
an  excellent  broad  hint  for  a  caricature  of  Lis- 
ton  looking  through  a  rainbow.  After  rubbing 
his  nose  against  his  knuckle,  and  at  the  same 
time  the  brush  against  his  ear,  with  an  air  of 
importance  he  directed  me  to  the  dwelling  part 
of  the  establishment,  where,  he  told  me,  I  should 
find  his  "pa,"  for  it  appeared  I  had  been  ad- 
dressing Henry  Beverley,  the  son  of  the  proprie- 
tor. His  extraordinary  likeness  to  the  great 
comedian  I  afterward  found  was  notorious, 
and  on  which  much  hope  of  future  fame  was 
predicted,  but  never  was  realised. 

Mr.  Beverley  met  me  at  the  entrance,  and  I 
introduced  myself. 

"  Oh,  you  are  Mr.  Cowell — walk  in — take  a. 
6eat.  Well,  my  young  'un,  what  part  have  you 
ever  gone  on  for  in  Alexander  the  Great?"  said 


my  third  manager,  in  a  slang  kind  of  voice,  after 
the  manner  of  a  coster-monger  or  a  hackney- 
coachman,  without  a  hoarseness. 

"  Sir !"  said  I :  "  Alexander  the  Great !  There 
is  nothing  in  the  play  in  the  way  of  low  comedy 
but  Clytus,  and  I'm  not  able  to  play  that." 

"  Able  or  not  able,  you  must  play  what  I  want 
you  to  play,  or  I  shall  not  choose  to  be  able  to 
pay  you  your  salary  ;  but  as  to  Clytus,  it's  one 
of  my  pet  parts— I  do  that  myself.  Young  Betty 
opens  on  Monday  in  Alexander,  and  I  want  you 
for  Hephestion." 

"  But,  sir,  your  letter  of  engagement,"  which 
I  produced,  "expressly  says  that  I  am  to  play 
all  the  low  comedy,  save  only  such  characters 
as  you  think  proper  to  perform  yourself" 

"  Well,  that's  all  very  fine,  my  ^^111— I  know 
all  that — but  you  see  I  engaged  you  expressly,  as 
you  call  it,  to'supply  the  place  of  little  Dornton, 
who  was  to  have  gone  to  the  Haymarket,  but 
Coleman,  Winston,  and  Morris  have  had  a  b — 
row,  and  the  little  theatre  don't  open  this  season, 
so  Dornton  keeps  his  situation.  But  I'll  tell  you 
what  I'll  do:  if  you'll  agree  to  make  yourself 
generally  useful,  I'll  give  up  some  of  my  charac- 
ters, and  I  play  all  the  best;  if  not,  I  can  get 
plenty  of  young  'uns  at  the  Harp  or  Finches" 
(favourite  haunts  for  would-be  actors  at  that 
time),  "and  there's  no  harm  done." 

But  there  was  a  great  deal  of  harm  done;  I 
had  taken  a  long  journey,  which  I  could  not  re- 
peat, with  Mrs.  Cowell  "  in  the  way  that  women 
wish  to  be  who  love  their  lords,"  and  had  re- 
fused the  other  two  offers  I  had  received.  I 
therefore  very  prudently  put  a  good  face  on  the 
matter,  and  made  my  debut  in  Hephestion,  and 
Ralph  in  Lock  and  Key,  which  the  manager 
gave  up  for  this  night  only. 

He  was  a  tall,  gaunt-looking  man,  vulgar, 
both  in  appearance  and  manner — a  dirty  shirt, 
open  at  the  neck;  worn-out  sandals  for  slippers; 
and  an  old  drab  greatcoat,  his  dressing-gown,  I 
suppose.  But  I  was  rejoiced  to  find,  upon  ac- 
quaintance, that  he  was  a  very  different  human 
being  from  what  might  be  imagined  from  a  first 
impression :  he  proved  to  be  a  kind,  open-hearted, 
honest  man;  I  was  in  his  employ  for  more  than 
a  year,  greatly  to  my  advantage;  and  we  part- 
ed, and  continued  the  best  of  friends. 

His  circuit  consisted  of  Richmond,  Wool- 
wich, and  Croyden;  and  the  villages  being  all 
within  a  few  miles  of  London,  the  distinguished 
members  of  Covent  Garden  and  Drury  Lane 
were  able  to  pay  short  and  continual  visits — we 
had  a  "star"  nearly  every  night;  in  conse- 
quence, all  that  was  required  of  the  stock  com- 
pany was  utility ;  and  1  was  the  most  useful  of 
the  party.  When  I  entered  the  profession,  I  had 
determined  to  succeed,  and,  therefore,  no  labour 
could  appal  me;  I  played  anything  and  every- 
thing, from  high  tragedy  to  low  comedy ;  and 
to  the  excess  and  variety  of  practice  I  had  in 
that  company,  I  feel  myself  indebted  for  all  the 
experience  I  have  put  up  in  one  parcel  since.  I 
have  played  Mr.  Oakley  to  Miss  Smith's  (the 
successful  imitator  of  Mrs.  Siddons,  now  Mrs. 
Bartlev,  if  she's  alive)  Jealous  Wife,  one  night, 
and  Squire  Beadle,  with  Charles  Young  as  Oak- 
ley, another;  Caleb  Gtuotem  to  Paddy  Webb's 
Loonev;  Captain  BeamMrd  to  Matthews  as  Ca- 
leb, aiid  so  on.  Beverley  used  to  boast  that 
"The  young  'un" — that  was  his  affectionate  ti- 
tle for  me—"  in  case  of  necessity,  could  go  on 
for  Hamlet,  from  night  to  night,  without  missing 
a  line." 


PASSED   AMONG   THE    PLAYERS. 


Among  the  celebrated  actors  I  played  with  in 
this  company,  I  remember  the  following :  Mes- 
dames  Glover,  Davidson,  Edwin,  Smith,  Kel- 
ly, Matthews,  Cubit,  and  Booth  :  Messieurs 
Young,  Matthews,  Munden,  Webb,  Elliston, 
Emery,  Sinclair,  Incledon,  Taylor,  Blanchard, 
Samuel  Russell,  Dowton,  Oxberry,  Rae,  Betty, 
Richard  Jones,  with  fifty  others,  and  the  ridicu- 
lous "  Amateur  of  Fashion,"  Romeo  Coates. 
He  played  six  or  seven  times  during  the  season, 
gratuitously,  to  crowded  houses;  and,  as  Bev- 
erley expressed  it,  "The  nasty  beast  paid  the 
rent."  He  was  like  a  very  ugly  monkey  in  the 
face,  with  long,  frizzly,  black  hair,  turned  up 
behind,  usually  with  a  woman's  comb ;  but  in 
Romeo  it  was  allowed  to  take  the  natural  posi- 
tion of  a  horse's  tail,  which  it  resembled,  and 
was  decorated  with  a  large  bunch  of  white  rib- 
ands. His  wardrobe  was  of  the  most  costly  ma- 
terials and  ridiculous  fashion ;  his  jewelry  was 
said  to  be  of  great  value,  and  for  its  protection  he 
was  always  accompanied  by  Bishop,  the  Bow- 
street  officer.  I  had  the  misery  of  playing  Mer- 
cutio,  Ensign  Dudley,  and  Horatio  to  his  Ro- 
meo, Belcour,  and  Loihario.  His  dying  scenes 
were  always  encored,  and  so  were  many  of  his 
speeches,  amid  shouts  of  laughter,  and  he  seem- 
ed to  relish  the  ridicule  heaped  upon  him  quite 
as  much  as  the  audience. 

After  one  of  his  exhibitions,  I  performed  Ar- 
taxomines  in  Bombastes,  in  imitation  of  him 
throughout,  and  the  identity  was  so  great  that 
many  wagers  were  laid  that  I  was  really  the 
man.  A  piece  at  this  time  called  At  Home  was 
in  rehearsal  at  Covent  Garden,  in  which  Mat- 
thews had  a  part  intended  to  represent  Coates, 
and  the  great  mimic  used  to  drive  to  Richmond 
during  its  preparation  to  get  me  to  read  the  part 
in  the  way  Coates  would  be  likely  to  play  it. 

It  is  notorious  that  an  imitation  can  be  much 
•easier  caught  from  an  imitation  than  from  the 
original ;  the  very  best  must  partake  of  carica- 
ture, and  the  outline,  in  consequence,  is  bolder, 
as  a  copy  is  much  easier  made  from  a  drawing 
than  a  drawing  is  made  from  nature.  The 
stock  company  are  not  worth  talking  about  on 
the  stage,  and  off  of  it  I  knew  nothing  of  them, 
with  the  exception  of  Klanert,  Hughes,  and  lit- 
tle Bob  Kcely.  The  first  was  our  principal  man ; 
he  had  been  for  some  years  at  Covent  Garden, 
and  his  name  will  be  found,  in  the  original  cast 
of  "  Speed  the  Plough,"  as  young  Handy's  ser- 
vant, and  in  that  line  of  business,  I  have  no 
doubt,  he  was  excellent.  Hughes  went  to  Drury 
Lane  that  season,  and  has  been  there,  with 
scarcely  anybody's  knowing  it,  ever  since.  Kee- 
ly  was  a  sort  of  second  prompter,  a  very  talented 
young  man  in  every  way  but  as  an  actor  then, 
nor  did  he  give  any  promise  that  he  could  ever 
become  the  excellent  comedian  I  am  told  he 
now  is.  He  was  very  successful  as  a  star  in 
this  country,  a  few  years  since,  but  I  never  saw 
him  act. 

The  immortal  Kean  had  this  year  burst  from 
his  obscurity,  to  dazzle  all  the  world  with  his 
transcendent  talent.  I  was  most  anxious  to  see 
this  wonder,  and  the  first  night  I  was  out  of  a 
performance,  Keely,  who  was  my  sworn  friend 
and  companion,  walked  with  me  from  Wool- 
wich to  London,  and  at  about  four  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon  we  joined  a  crowd  already  assembled 
at  the  pit  entrance  of  Drury  Lane  Theatre,  which 
continued  to  increase  by  thousands  before  the 
doors  were  opened.' 

Half  crushed  to  death,  we  found  ourselves, 


after  a  desperate  effort,  at  the  back  of  the  pas- 
sage which  surrounds  the  pit,  from  whence  I 
could,  by  straining  to  my  utmost  height,  catch  a 
glimpse  of  the  corner  of  the  green  curtain  near- 
est to  the  top,  but  little  Bob  hadn't  even  that  sat- 
isfaction. There,  at  any  rate,  we  could  not  see 
Kean,  nor  live  to  see  anything  else  at  the  end  of 
a  few  hours'  squeeze  such  as  we  were  then  en- 
during, and  we  agreed  to  pay  the  extra  three 
and  sixpence  and  go  into  the  boxes;  but  as  to 
obtaining  a  pass  check,  it  was  impossible.  We 
had  nearly  as  much  trouble  to  get  out  as  we  had 
to  get  in,  and  were  content  to  lose  our  three  and 
sixpence  apiece,  and  pay  fourteen  shillings  more 
for  the  privilege  of  standing  on  a  back  seat  of 
the  upper  tier  of  boxes,  at  the  corner  next  the 
stage,  an  excellent  point  of  sight  for  a  perspect- 
ive view  of  the  crown  of  a  man's  hat,  or  a  bald 
spot  on  a  lady's  head  in  the  pit,  who  had  been 
obliged  to  take  off  her  bonnet  whether  she  liked 
it  or  not. 

"Bruised  in  body,"  and  "sorely  afflicted  in 
spirit"  and  pocket,  we  were  just  in  the  mood 
not  to  be  easily  pleased  with  anything  or  any- 
body. 

When  Kean  came  on  I  was  astonished.  I 
was  prepared  to  see  a  small  man ;  but  diminish- 
ed by  the  unusual  distance,  and  his  black  dress, 
and  a  mental  comparison  with  Kemble's  prince- 
ly person,  he  appeared  a  perfect  pigmy — his 
voice,  unlike  any  I  had  ever  heard  before,  per- 
haps from  its  very  strangeness,  was  most  objec- 
tionable— and  I  turned  to  Keely,  and  at  once 
pronounced  him  a  most  decided  humbug ;  and,  if 
1  could  have  got  out  then,  I  should  have  said  so 
to  everybody,  because  I  honestly  thought  so; 
and  if,  afterward,  I  had  been  convinced  of  his1 
enormous  genius,  I  might,  like  Taylor,  the  ocu- 
list, and  editor  of  the  Sun  newspaper,  have  per- 
sisted in  my  denunciation,  rather  than  confess 
my  incapacity,  at  the  first  glance,  to  comprehend 
the  sublimity  of  Shakspeare  and  Nature  being 
upon  such  familiar  terms.  But  I  was  obliged 
to  remain,  and  compelled  to  be  silent;  so  invo- 
king patience,  and  placing  my  hand  on  a  young 
lady's  shoulder  for  support,  I  quietly  gazed  on 
through  three  tedious  scenes — for  all  the  actors 
seemed  worse  than  usual — till  it  came  to  the  di- 
alogue with  the  Ghost,  and  at  the  line 

"  I'll  call  thee  Hamlet— king— father—" 

I  was  converted.  I  resigned  the  support  of  the 
lady,  and  employed  both  hands  in  paying  the 
usual  tribute  to  godlike  talent.  Father  is  not  a 
pretty  word  to  look  at,  but  it  is  beautiful  to  hear 
when  lisped  by  little  children,  or  spoken  by  Ed- 
mund Kean  in  Hamlet. 

In  private  life  Kean  was  the  most  contradict- 
ory character  I  ever  met  with :  affable  and  over- 
bearing by  turns — in  either  case  without  suffi- 
cient cause.  Lavishly,  nay,  foolishly  liberal,  or 
niggardly  mean  and  suspicious.  With  a  refined 
taste  for  music,  he  would  listen  attentively,  and 
laugh  heartily,  at  a  blackguard's  song  in  a  beer- 
house. Devotedly  fond  of  children  and  animals, 
he  was  sometimes  brutal  in  his  domestic  behav- 
iour. An  enthusiastic  admirer  of  flowers,  birds, 
shrubs,  and  Nature  in  her  simplest  garb,  he 
would  spend  days  and  weeks  in  a  den  of  vice 
and  depravity.  His  chosen  associates  were  se- 
lected from  the  lowest  dregs  of  society — prize- 
iighters,  thief-catchers,  and  knaves  and  fools 
of  low  degree,  "  as  gross  as  ignorance  made 
drunk" — though  sought  after  and  courted  by  all 
the  rich  and  noble  in  mind  or  station.     When 


28 


THIRTY   YEARS 


sober,  he  was  elegantly  courteous  and  gentle- 
manlike in  his  deportment,  if  he  thought  proper; 
but  when  intoxicated,  he  was  disgustingly  coarse, 
and  vulgar  in  the  extreme. 

Kean  had  his  degrees  of  drunkenness,  accord- 
ing to  a  calculation  made  by  a  faithful  servant 
of  his,  I  think  named  Miller.  This  man  was 
devotedly  attached  to  his  master — all  menials 
adored  him — and  if  Kean  happened  to  be  dining 
with  a  party  of  gentlemen,  which  he  was  obliged 
to  do  sometimes,  Miller — who  was  as  anxious 
about  his  conducting  himself  with  propriety  as 
a  father  could  possibly  be — when  it  was  getting 
late,  and  the  servants  were  ordered  to  leave  the 
room,  would  take  his  station  near  the  door,  and, 
from  time  to  time,  make  the  following  inquiries 
of  any  of  the  party  who  might  pass  him. 

"How  is  master  getting  on,  sir V 

"  Oh,  very  well,  Miller,"  would  be  the  prob- 
able reply. 

"  Is  he  getting — eh  V  says  Miller,  significantly. 

"Getting  whatl"  says  the  stranger. 

"Getting  tipsy,  sir!  if  you  must  have  it." 

"  Oh,  just  a  little." 

"Ah!  I  thought  how  it  would  be,"  Miller 
would  say,  with  a  sigh.  "And  he  promised  me 
he'd  behave  himself!" 

In  half  an  hour  he  would  make  another  in- 
quiry to  the  same  effect,  and  receive  for  answer, 

"Oh,  he's  just  a  little  high — glorious  company! 
He's  going  to  sing  us  a  song;." 

"Going  to  singl"  says  Miller,  with  anxiety. 
"  What  is  he  going  to  sing,  sir  1  What's  the 
name  of  the  songl" 

'"The  Storm."' 

"  '  The  Storm  !'  Ah  !  I  see  how  it  is  ;  if  he's 
going  to  sing  '  The  Storm,'  he  must  be  getting 
very  drunk." 

Another  half  hour  would  pass,  and  he  would 
listen  at  the  keyhole,  or,  perhaps,  open  the  door 
quietly,  and  thrust  his  kead  into  the  room,  with- 
draw it  in  an  instant,  and,  shutting  the  door,  turn 
round  with  a  look  of  horror,  and  exclaim,  "It's 
all  over!  he's  past  hope!  he's  out  of  his  senses! 
he's  talking  Latin!  And  now  he's  sure  to  make 
a  damned"  beast  of  himself!" 


i^t>_ 


CHAPTER  XII. 

"The  same  persons  who  would  overturn  a  state  to  estab- 
lish an  opinion  often  very  absurd,  anathematize  the  inno- 
cent amusements  necessary  to  a  great  city,  and  the  arts 
which  contribute  to  the  splendour  of  a  nation.'' — Voltaire. 

After  an  unprofitable  campaign  at  Rich- 
mond, the  company  moved  to  Craydon,  a  very 
small,  anti-theatrical  town  at  any  time,  but  then 
made  more  so  by  a  long  and  severe  controversy 
between  two  popular  preachers,  who,  having  ex- 
hausted their  identical  rhetoric,  and  the  patience 
of  their  congregations,  agreed,  as  a  last  resource 
of  notoriety,  to  unite  their  whole  remaining  stock 
of  damnation,  and  hurl  it  wholesale  at  the  drama 
and  its  humble  professors.  The  effect  of  this 
fire  and  brimstone  eloquence,  if  it  may  be  so 
called,  was  to  half  ruin  poor  Beverley,  and  half 
starve  some  ten  or  twelve  poor  players. 

"  The  first  and  wisest  of  them  all  professed 
To  know  this  only — that  lie  nothing  knew. 
******* 

Alas  '  what  can  they  teach,  and  not  mislead, 
I   oorant  of  themselves,  of  God  much  more  ; 
Ai.il  how  the  world  began,  and  how  man  fell, 

Degraded  by  himself,  on  grace  depending? 
Much  of  the  soul  they  tali  but  all  awry. 
And  in  themselves  seek  virtue,  and  to  themselves 
All  glory  arrogate,  to  God  give  none." 


Thus  sung  the  pious  Milton,  but  our  perse- 
cutors used  language  better  suited  to  convince 
their   feeble-minded  flock   that  Paradise  could 
only  be  Regained  by  prostrating  the  playhouse. 
After  six  weeks  of  patient  endurance,  we  made 
our  retreat  to  Woolwich.    Beverley  had  no  scene- 
painter  employed,  and  to  aid  my  worthy  mana- 
ger, I  engaged  gratuitously  to  "get  up"  as  the 
phrase  is,  some  showy  pieces.     At  that  period 
of  my  life  I  was  an  enthusiast  in  anything  1  un- 
dertook.    Through  the  kindness  of  Mr.  Murray, 
of  Covent  Garden,  I  obtained  an  introduction  to 
Phillips,  the  then  celebrated  scenic  artist,  and 
gained  from  him  some  general  instructions  as  to 
the  colours,  &c.,and  the  privilege  of  visiting  the 
painting-room.     He  was  of  the  old  school,  and 
though  his  productions  were  beautiful  specimens 
of  art,  the  elaborate  finish  he  bestowed  on  them 
rather  decreased  than  added  to  their  effect;  and 
while  in  the  same  room,  the  elder  Grieve  (who 
first  pointed  out  the  path  Stanfield  has  since  trod 
to  fame)  was  every  day  splashing  into  existence 
a  cottage  or  a  cavern,  with  a  pound  brush  in. 
each  hand;  Phillips  would  sit  lor  hours  with  a 
rest-stick  and  a  camel's  hair  pencil  shading  the 
head  of  a  nail.     My  success  in  this  department 
of  the  arts,  in  the  opinion  of  the  kind-hearted. 
Beverley,  was  superlative.     He  said,  and  I  am 
sure  innocently  believed.  I  was  "  the  best  scene 
painter  in  the  kingdom !"  and  as  he  was  too  poor 
to  pay  me  the  price  at  which  he  valued  my  talent, 
he,  like  an  honest,  liberal-minded  man,  recom- 
mended me  to  Trotter,  who  had  become  the  lessee 
of  the  Brighton  Theatre,  and  with  him  I  engaged 
as  actor  and  painter,  at  the  highest  salary  I  ever 
got  in  England,  out  of  London.     Harley  was  the 
principal  comedian,  and  as  I  would  not  play  a 
secondary  part,  I  appeared  less  frequently  than, 
he  did,  but  shared  equally  with  him  the  favour 
of  the  audience.     He  was  only  a  few  years  old- 
er than  myself,  but  the  most  parsimonious  young 
man  I  ever  knew.     The  next  season  he  appear- 
ed   with   great  success   at  the   English  Opera 
House,  and  has  continued  a  favourite  in  the 
metropolis  ever  since.     A  weak-minded, loantcd- 
lo-be-lliought- great  actor  (he  was  foolish  enough 
to  drown  himself  a  few  years  since),  of  the  name 
of  Faulkner,  was  a  member  of  the  company. 
He,  with  a  Mr.  Anderson,  who  had  got  rich  in 
the  employ  of  Stephen  Kemble,  as  his  treasurer, 
had  leased  the  northern  circuit  from  that  good, 
easy  man,  and  Faulkner,  the  acting  partner,  was 
recruiting  for  the   establishment.      To  me  he 
made  an  offer  to  lead  the  low  comedy  business, 
but  with  a  salary  of  less  than  one  half  of  what  I 
was  then  receiving,  which  his  persuasion,  my 
own  vanity,  I  calied  it  ambition  then,  and  the 
flattering  prophecy  of  Mrs.  Jordan,  induced  me 
to  accept;  and  after  due  notice,  Trotter  and  I 
parted,  with  sincere  regret,  I  believe,  on  both 
sides. 

Faulkner  and  Anderson's  circuit  consisted  of 
North  and  South  Shields,  in  Northumberland; 
Sunderland,  and  the  city  of  Durham,  in  the 
county  of  that  name;  Stockton-upon-Tees,  and 
Scarborough,  in  Yorkshire.  Upon  my  arrival 
at  the  first-named  place,  I  found,  to  my  astonish- 
ment, lour  low  comedians  besides  myself,  en- 
gaged on  precisely  the  same  terms  as  to  busi- 
ness. Four  to  one  were  great  odds,  but  I  dis- 
tanced them  all.  First,  "Lewis;"  he  got  too 
drunk  to  play  the  first  night,  and  was  dischar- 
ged, and  for  spite,  kept  the  "  same  old  drunk,"  as 
the  sailor  said,  for  the  six  weeks  we  remained 
in  the  town,  and  may  not  be  sober  yet,  for  any- 


PASSED    AMONG    THE    PLAYERS. 


29 


tiling  I  know  to  the  contrary,  for  I  have  never 
seen  him  since.  Next,  Brown,  a  brother  to  John 
Mills  Brown,  for  many  years  in  this  country,  but 
unlike  him  in  talent;  he  did  more  good  than 
harm.  Then  Smith,  nicknamed  Obi,  from  his  ex- 
cellent pantomime  acting  in  Three-fingered  Jack ; 
but  he  was  a  most  melancholy  low  comedian, 
and  couldn't  sing.  And  last,  Porteus;  he  was 
an  elderly,  baldheaded  gentleman  of  forty-five, 
who  had  made  his  first  appearance  on  any  stage  a 
few  months  before,  as  a  last  resource,  having 
failed  in  a  saddler's  shop  at  Liverpool.  I  had 
everything  my  own  way,  and  was,  of  course,  a 
great  favourite,  but  the  treasurer-manager  had 
so  cunningly  contrived  the  terms  of  the  benefits, 
that  if  an  actor  didn't  lose  by  taking  one,  which, 
by  his  engagement,  he  was  compelled  to  do,  he 
thought  himself  well  off.  The  journies  were 
long  and  expensive;  I  was  the  father  of  two 
splendid  children,  and  only  a  guinea  and  a  half 
a  week,  and  my  good  spirits  to  feed  and  clothe 
them ;  I  never  suffered  the  inconvenience  of 
poverty,  while  on  the  stage  in  England,  but  du- 
ring the  year  I  was  in  this  company. 

At  Durham  I  had  the  happiness  to  gain  the 
firm  and  lasting  friendship  of  the  great  and  good 
Stephen  Kemble;  he  there  resided  in  a  beautiful 
little  cottage,  a  short  distance  from  the  city,  on 
the  bank  of  the  river.  In  early  life  he  had  mar- 
ried a  Miss  Satchell,  the  daughter  of  a  then 
celebrated  pianoforte  maker.  She  had  retired 
from  the  profession  before  my  time,  but  had  left 
a  high  reputation  behind  her,  and  in  parts  re- 
quiring simple  pathos,  was  said  never  to  have 
been  excelled  ;  her  sister  was  still  on  the  stage, 
and  married  for  some  years  to  a  distant  relation 
of  Mrs.  Jordan's,  by  the  name  of  James  Bland; 
as  actors,  they  were  without  talent,  but  had  two 
fine  children,  from  ten  to  twelve  years  old. 

When  Stephen  Kemble  leased  his  theatre  to 
Faulkner  and  Anderson,  he  made  a  proviso  that 
they  should  receive  each  five-and-twenly  shil- 
lings per  week  for  the  services  (such  as  they 
were)  of  themselves  and  children.  The  boy 
made  the  calls,  the  pretty  little  girl  "went  on" 
for  one  of  the  Stranger's  offspring,  or  a  Child  in 
the  Wood;  the  mother  played  slwrt  old  ladies; 
and  the  father  delivered  the  messages.  Thus 
the  claims  of  Plutus  bound  them  to  a  daily  in- 
tercourse, though  those  of  Hymen  had  been 
broken  for  years;  the  man's  dissipation,  I  ima- 
gine, was  the  cause  of  their  separation — /  be- 
lieve that  women  are  never  in  the  wrong — but  they 
met  and  spoke  to  each  other  as  indifferent  per- 
sons would,  and  'twas  droll  to  hear  the  old  gen- 
tleman say,  "I  must  put  on  my  other  shirt  to- 
day, for  I'm  invited  to  take  a  friendly  cup  of  tea 
with  the  old  lady,"  meaning  his  wife.  His 
carelessness  of  character  was  naturally  increas- 
ed by  the  certainty  he  had  of  receiving  his  sal- 
ary. The  theatres,  as  is  usual  in  all  countries, 
were  surrounded  by  some  half  dozen  taverns, 
and  at  one  or  other  Jemmy  would  wait  to  be 
called ;  for  'twas  his  boast  that  he  had  never 
been  known  to  be  in  a  theatre  a  minute  before  or 
alter  he  was  wanting.  He  was  a  great  shot,  and 
always  dressed  in  a  hunting-coat,  with  large 
leather  gaiters,  and  small-clothes;  and  no  mat- 
ter what  the  costume  of  the  play  was,  he  never 
changed  any  part  of  his  apparel  but  his  coat. 
He  was  well  informed,  a  ready  wit,  and  of 
great  amiability  and  simplicity  of  manners;  his 
company  was,  therefore,  unfortunately,  much 
sought  for  as  a  brother  sportsman,  or  a  pot  com- 
panion,   Vv^hen  his  services  were  required  on 


the  stage,  his  son,  from  long  practice,  would 
have  him  at  the  wing  just  in  time  to  slip  on  a 
tunic  or  a  jacket,  pop  a  little  red  on  his  face,  and 
push  him  on.  He  knew  every  message  in  every 
old  play  that  ever  was  delivered,  but  the  new 
ones  he  either  would  not  or  could  not  learn. 
In  the  opera  of  the  Devil's  Bridge  he  had  to  say 
a  couple  of  lines  to  the  effect  that  "  The  Count 
Belino's  escaped  from  his  confinement,"  instead 
of  which  he  rushed  on  and  said, 

"  My  lord,  the  Count  Belino's  taken  pris- 
oner." 

"No,  no!"  said  his  son,  who  was  always  his 
prompter. 

"No,  no,"  echoed  Jemmy,  "and  so  they've 
cut  off  his  head." 

"  Escaped !  escaped  !"  said  the  boy. 

"  And  so  he  has  made  his  escape,"  saia  Jem- 
my, amid  a  roar  of  laughter.  The  part  of  Cates- 
by,  in  "Richard  III.,"  he  boasted  he  was  "let- 
ter perfect  in ;"  and  so  he  was ;  but  Richard 
had  so  impressed  on  his  mind  the  high  impor- 
tance of  his  being  very  quick  in  saying,  "  The 
Duke  of  Buckingham  is  taken,"  that  he  an- 
nounced the  joyful  tidings  two  minutes  too 
soon.  Again,  at  the  first  pause,  he  popped  on 
his  head  and  stammered  out,  "My  lord,  the 
Duke  of  Buckingham  is  taken,"  and  again  was 
pulled  back  by  the  tail  of  his  tunic;  when  the 
right  time  actually  arrived,  he  was  a  little  too 
late,  and  Richard,  foaming  with  rage,  shouted 
out, 

"Now,  sir?" 

"  The  Duke  of  Buckingham,"  said  Jemmy, 
very  calmly,  "  is  taken  now,  by  God." 

He  was  intrusted  with  the  part  of  the  Priest 
in  Hamlet,  who  really  has  one  very  difficult 
speech,  beginning  with 

"  Her  obsequies  have  been  as  far  enlarged 
As  we  have  warranty  ;" 

instead  of  which,  Jemmy  substituted, 

"  Her  obsequies  are  as  large  as  we  can  make  'em  ;" 

and  the  audience  heard  no  more  of  the  excuse 
for  the  omission  of  the  usual  forms  at  the  fune- 
ral of  the  "fair  Ophelia." 

As  he  "  opened  an  account"  at  every  grog- 
shop in  the  town,  his  benefits  were  always  fully, 
though  not  very  fashionably,  attended;  he  used 
to  call  them  "  a  meeting  of  creditors."  His  son 
was  a  good-tempered,  intelligent  boy,  but  show- 
ed little  respect  or  deference  for  the  opinion  of 
his  father.  Children  soon  learn  to  neglect  that 
duty  when  they  see  a  parent  neglecting  to  respect 
himself.  On  a  Saturday  they  usually  held  a  con- 
sultation as  to  how  the  five-and-twenty  shillings 
should  be  disposed  of  to  the  best  advantange. 

"Now,  John,  my  boy,"  the  old  man  would 
say,  "let  me  see:  I  owe  eight  shillings  at  the 
sign  of  the  Saddle;  well,  that's  that,"  putting  the 
amount  on  one  side ;  "  well,  then  I  promised  to 
pay  part  of  my  score  at  the  Blue  Pig — well, 
say  five  shillings ;  there,  I'll  stop  Mother  Pep- 
per's mouth  with  that.  How  much  does  that 
make,  JohnT' 

"  Why,  nine,  ten,  eleven,  twelve,  thirteen 
shillings,"  says  the  boy,  touching  his  five  fingers. 

"But  I  mean,  you  goose,  how  much  have  I 
got  left  V 

"  How  should  I  know  ?"  says  John  ;  "  why 
don't  you  count  it  1  you've  got  the  money." 

"  But  you  ought  to  know,  you  young  rascal," 
says  the  father,  with  true  parental  authority ; 
"  you  ought  to  know :  take  thirteen  from  twenty- 
five,  how  many  remain  1   why.  twelve,  to  be 


30 


THIRTY    YEARS 


sure,"  counting  the  balance  slyly  in  his  hand ; 
"  that's  the  way  you're  neglecting  your  educa- 
tion, is  it  ]  I  shall  have  to  talk  to  your  school- 
master." 

"Yes,  you  had  better  talk  to  him,"  replies 
John,  "  for  he  told  me,  yesterday,  that  unless  you 
let  him  have  a  little  money,  1  needn't  come  to 
school  no  more." 

"Ay,  true,  my  dear,  that's  true;  you  mustn't 
lose  your  education,  at  any  rate,"  says  the  kind 
old  man ;  "  take  him  round  five  shillings  after 
dinner,  my  dear.  I  had  a  pot  with  him  last 
night,  and  he  agreed  if  I  would  let  him  have 
that  much  now,  he'd  take  the  rest  out  in  tickets 
at  the  Ben,  and  treat  the  boys." 

"  I  want  a  pair  of  shoes,  father,"  says  John, 
taking  advantage  of  the  old  man's  softened 
mood. 

"  How  much  will  they  cost,  my  boy  V 

"  Why,  father,"  says  John.  "  I  can  get  a  capi- 
tal pair  for  three  and  sixpence." 

"You  must  get  them  for  three  shillings,  John; 
we  owe  the  butcher  four,  and  he  must  be  paid, 
or  we  get  no  beef;  there,  that  ends  it,"  says  the 
poor  old  fellow,  with  a  self-satisfied  air;  but  his 
vision  of  independence  was  in  an  instant  de- 
stroyed by  John's  simply  saying, 

"You've  forgot  the  landlady,  father." 

"  Yes,  that's  true,  so  I  have ;  yes,  d —  her, 
she  must  have  her  rent,  or  out  we  go.  John, 
my  dear,  I'll  tell  you  how  I'll  contrive  it.  I'll 
put  the  Saddle  off  with  four  shillings,  and  open  a 
branch  account  with  the  Yew-tree." 

"Yes,  that's  all  very  well,"  says  John,  very 
quietly,  "  but  we  owed  her  sixpence  on  last 
week,  and  she  paid  for  the  washing." 

"  Well,  how  much  does  the  washing  come  to, 
John  7" 

"  Two  and  tup'ence,"  says  the  boy. 

"  Well,  then,"  argues  the  old  man,  "  Mother 
Pepper  must  be  content  to  take  three  shillings 
instead  of  five." 

"  But  then,  father,  that  won't  do ;  and  we  want 
tea." 

"  Who  wants  tea  1    I  don't  care  a  d —  for  tea." 

"But  I  do,"  replies  the  boy,  with  provoking 
calmness. 

"  You  want  tea !  you'll  want  bread,  you  young 
scoundrel !"  shouts  Bland,  in  a  rage. 

"Bread!  that's  true,"  exclaims  John;  "you 
forgot  the  baker." 

The  old  man's  schemes  to  pacify  his  creditors 
with  the  distribution  of  five-and-twenty  shillings 
were  all  knocked  on  the  head  by  the  recollection 
of  the  baker,  and  sweeping  the  money  off  the 
table  into  his  breeches  pocket  in  a  passion,  he 
roared  out, 

"  They  may  all  go  to  hell  together ;  I'm  damned 
if  I  pay  any  of  them." 

The  frequenters  of  the  theatre,  both  at  Shields 
and  Sunderland,  were  of  the  sort  Shakspeare  so 
excellently  describes:  "Youths  that  thunder  at 
a  playhouse,  and  fight  for  bitten  apples;  that  no 
audience  but  the  tribulation  of  Tower  Hill,  or 
the  limbs  of  Limehouse,  their  dear  brothers,  are 
able  to  endure." 

At  Durham  they  were  fastidiously  refined, 
and  at  Scarborough  exclusively  fashionable; 
but  I  was  fortunate  enough  to  suit  their  varied 
tastes,  and  was  a  great  favourite  everywhere. 
We  had  a  month  to  remain  at  the  latter  town, 
when,  through  the  influence  of  my  good  friends, 
Major  Topham,  of  sporting  and  dramatic  celeb- 
rity, and  Stephen  Kemble,  I  received  an  offer 
fro'in  Fitzgerald,  of  the  York  circuit,  to  lead  the 


comedy,  with  the  highest  salary  in  the  company. 
I,  of  course,  was  delighted ;  instantly  accepted 
the  proposal,  and  informed  my  managers  of  my 
anxiety  to  leave  at  the  end  of  that  season;  but 
no  prayers  could  move  them;  they  insisted  on 
their  bond  of  six  weeks'  notice,  which  obliged 
me  to  go  to  Shields  for  two  weeks,  and  take  a 
very  long  journey  out  of  my  way  to  get  to  Hull, 
where  I  was  to  join  the  York  company.  I  was 
very  poor,  too,  and  '■  more  proud  than  poor." 

"And  the  worst  of  it  was,  the  little  ones  were  sickly, 
And  if  they'd  live  or  die,  the  doctor  didn't  know." 

Both  my  children  were  ill  with  the  measles, 
which  parental  anxiety  magnified  into  the  small- 
pox: 

"  The  dragon  now, 
Which  Jenner  combats  on  a  cow." 

The  last  night  arrived.  With  scarcely  enough, 
to  pay  my  stage-fare  alone  to  Shields,  broken  in 
spirit,  I  was  bustling  through  Blaisot,  in  one  of 
the  "  Maid  and  Magpie"  translations,  for  the 
first  and  only  time — Heave*  be  praised — when 
I  was  informed  a  gentleman  at  the  stage-door 
wished  to  see  me.  I  had  two  or  three  creditors 
in  town,  very  gentlemanly  men,  but  they  had 
kindly  promised  to  wait — for  their  money,  I  mean, 
though  not  at  the  stage-door — but  at  the  end  of 
the  act  a  very  elegant  man  handed  me  a  card,  on 
which  was-  engraved  Mr.  Alston,  which  he  ex- 
plained, understanding  I  was  engaged,  he  was 
about  leaving  with  the  porter.  On  the  back  of 
it  was  written,  in  pencil,  "Lord  Normanby,  and 
a  few  friends,  will  be  happy  to  see  Mr.  Cowell 
at  supper  this  evening."  I  was  not  in  the  hu- 
mour to  make  myself  agreeable  to  Lord  any- 
body, but  politely  declined  the  honour,  and  sta- 
ted, as  a  reason,  the  indisposition  of  my  children, 
and  the  necessity  of  leaving  town  in  a  couple  of 
hours,  in  the  mail-stage,  for  Shields.  Before  the 
conclusion  of  the  performance  I  received  a  pack- 
et, which  I  found  contained  fifty  one-guinea 
notes,  with  the  following  epistle  : 

"  Messrs.  W.  T.  Denison,  Mr.  Alston,  and 
Lord  Normanby,  great  admirers  of  Mr.  Cowell's 
comic  powers,  beg  he  will  accept  the  enclosed 
as  their  contribution  to  his  benefit,  which  they 
were  unable  to  attend ;  any  influence  they  may- 
possess  he  may  freely  command.  They  wish 
him  every  success  in  a  profession  of  which  he 
is  already  so  great  an  ornament." 

I  paid  off  my  four  or  five  pounds'  worth  of 
debts  in  the  morning ;  wrapped  my  dear  children 
iu  blankets ;  hired  a  postchaise ;  played  out  my 
two  weeks  at  Shields  ;  and,  in  high  spirits,  start- 
ed for  York,  as  the  theatrical  phrase  then  was, 
the  stcjrping-slonc  to  Londo?i. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

"  I  do  remember  him  at  Clement's  Inn,  like  a  man  made 
after  supper  of  a  cheese-paring ;  when  he  was  naked  he 
was,  for  all  the  world,  like  a  forked  radish,  with  a  head 
fantastically  carved  upon  it  with  a  knife:  he  was  so  forlorn, 
that  his  dimensions,  to  any  thick  sight,  were  invisible  :  he 
was  the  very  genius  of  famine  ;  and  now  is  this  vice's  dag- 
ger become  a  sijuire."— Henry  IV.,  part  ii. 

The  York  circuit,  under  the  long  and  able 
management  of  the  eccentric  Tate  Wilkinson, 
had  for  years  held  the  first  rank,  next  to  London, 
in  theatrical  estimation.  In  this  school  the  tal- 
ent of  a  Siddons,  Jordan,  Kemble,  Emery, 
Knight,  Matthews,  and  a  host  of  other  celebra- 
ted actors,  had  been  matured  ;  but,  at  the  time  I 
speak  of,  it  had  fallen  from  its  high  estate,  though 


PASSED    AMONG    THE    PLAYERS. 


31 


it  still  maintained  a  feeble  superiority  among  its 
compeers  from  the  recollection  of  what  it  had 
been.  Learning,  at  the  theatre,  that  Fitzgerald 
(the  manager)  was  confined  to  his  room  with 
the  asthma,  I  called  at  his  lodging  over  a  seed- 
shop,  on  a  short,  wide,  flat  street,  called  Corn- 
hill.  I  had  taken  up  my  abode  at  a  watch- 
maker's opposite.  I  found  my  new  ruler  seated 
on  four  chairs  (all  there  were  in  the  apartment), 
before  a  large  lire,  wrapped  in  a  white  flannel 
gown,  a  pair  of  green  slippers  peeping  from  un- 
derneath, and  a  crimson  velvet  cap,  confining  a 
head  of  hair  which  might  with  justice  have  been 
called  rcd-iwt  red,  but  that  the  contrast  with  the 
cap  cooled  it  down  to  a  yellowish  tinge.  His 
"  reception  was  the  north  side  of  friendly,  that  I 
must  say,"  to  use  Nicol  Jarvies'  expression,  but 
that  might  be  attributed  to  bodily  suffering — peo- 
ple are  not  often  sick  and  civil  at  the  same  time 
— but  a  poodle  dog  made  ample  amends  for  the 
lack  of  hospitality  of  his  master  (he  had  been 
trained  by  some  other  gentleman),  for  he  insist- 
ed on  taking  my  hat,  licked  my  hand,  and,  no 
doubt,  would  have  wagged  his  tail  if  he  had  had 
one;  but  as  the  negro  said  of  a  similar  animal, 
"dat  tail  must  ha'  been  cut  berry  short  off,  or 
else  him  drave  in."  Poor  Dragon  deserves  this 
much  notice  as  connected  with  the  drama ;  he 
was  the  real  original  dog  in  the  Forest  of  Bondy, 
and  shared  the  applause  with  the  great  Liston. 
The  old  saw  says,  "  Judge  of  a  man  by  the 
company  he  keeps ;"  but  the  companionship  and 
apparent  kindness  of  Fitzgerald  to  this  animal 
must  not  be  placed  to  his  credit  as  the  outward 
sign  of  goodness  of  heart.  He  liked  the  dog  be- 
cause he  drew  him  money  ;  on  the  same  princi- 
ple that  Elliot  was  civil  to  his  amiable  wife  Ce- 
leste, until  Fanny  Elssler  interfered  with  her 
attraction. 

After  standing  a  reasonable  time,  I  took  a  seat 
on  the  table ;  he  took  the  hint,  and  kicked  to- 
wards me  the  chair  on  which  his  feet  were  par- 
tially resting;  and,  in  the  unnecessary  energetic 
action  he  used,  he  displayed  a  leg,  in  point  of 
size,  very  much  resembling  half  a  pair  of  large 
kitchen  tongs.  He  was  a  tall,  good-looking  man 
when  made  up,  but  had  a  bad  countenance;  "his 
crow,  like  a  pent-house,  hung  over"  his  small, 
gray  eyes,  a  fine  Roman  nose,  and  a  mouth 
struggling  to  be  handsome  in  defiance  of  a  con- 
tinual sensual  expression.  He  professed  to  be  a 
very  gallant  man ;  and  his  poor  little  wife — who 
could  not  bring  herself  to  rejoice  with  him  at 
his  triumphs  in  that  department  of  the  arts — 
through  excessive  love,  or  folly,  attempted  to 
poison  herself  a  short  time  before  I  made  his  ac- 
quaintance. Her  life  was  saved  by  miracle,  to 
drag  out  a  wretched  existence,  with  prostrated 
nerve  and  a  broken  spirit.  Some  plausible,  but 
peremptory  objection,  was  raised  to  every  char- 
acter I  named  for  an  opening;  and,  after  some 
heat  on  both  sides,  he  wheezed  out  his  consent 
that  I  should  play  Crack  the  next  night,  without 
previous  announcement,  or  any  of  the  usual  for- 
malities thought  favourable  to  all  parties  in  ma- 
king a  first  appearance.  But  I  made  a  great  hit 
notwithstanding.  The  fact  I  found  to  be,  that 
his  offer  of  an  engagement  to  me  he  had  been 
obliged  to  make  at  the  suggestion  of  my  power- 
ful friends ;  but  that  Mr.  Bailey,  an  objection- 
able actor  to  the  audience  in  general  comedy 
(poor  fellow !  he  died  long  since  in  a  poor-house), 
had  a  wife,  "all  of  her  that  was  out  of  door  most 
rich,"  and  on  her  the  lion  had  put  his  paw;  and 
the  advancement  of  the  husband  on  the  road  to 


theatrical  preferment  was  the  M'Adamizinj 
means  most  in  his  power  to  smooth  the  path  to 
the  wile's  dishonour.  They  had,  of  course,  an 
excellent  situation,  and  a  large  family  ;  and  the 
good  woman,  I  believe  honestly,  lor  tiie  sake  of 
her  husband,  did  "  beguile  the  thing  she  was,  by 
seeming  otherwise."  But  the  audience  claimed 
the  exclusive  privilege  of  protecting  and  reward- 
ing a  favourite  actor,  "all  in  the  olden  time," 
and,  with  the  exception  of  some  petty  annoyan- 
ces, I  passed  a  pleasant  and  profitable  year  in 
the  York  circuit.  The  manager  feared  and  ha- 
ted me ;  I  have  explained  how  innocently  I  had 
caused  the  latter  feeling,  but  the  first  must  also 
be  accounted  for.  His  extreme  rudeness  indiir 
ced  me,  after  my  first  visit,  to  make  my  neces- 
sary communications  in  writing,  and,  in  reply 
to  one,  he,  in  plain  English,  called  me  a  liar.  I 
have  the  will  yet,  but  I  had  most  powerfully  the 
way  then,  to  fulfil,  "  on  good  occasion,"  old  Sco- 
tia's motto.  I  entered  his  apartment,  and  firmly, 
yet  civilly,  desired  him  to  unwritc  the  expression ; 
he  refused,  and  I  cured  his  asthma  for  that  bout. 
I  had  not  then  heard  the  anecdote  of  the  roughs- 
mannered  and  celebrated  Dr.  Moseley,  setting-to 
with  a  patient  suffering  under  the  same  disease, 
and,  after  pommelling  him  all  round  the  room, 
and  ultimately  flooring  him  with  a  "  hit  in  the 
wind,"  standing  over  him,  and  saying,  very 
calmly,  "  If  you  ever  draw  your  breath  again", 
you'll  be  entirely  cured."  And  I  have  no  doubt 
in  the  efficacy  of  the  remedy  myself;  but  people 
are  so  averse  to  take  "  what  will  do  them  good," 
if  it's  at  all  unpleasant,  that  many  sufferers  from 
this  long-lived  disease,  I  have  little  hesitation  in 
supposing,  would  rather  wheeze,  and  cough,  and 
smoke  stramonium,  sitting  upright  lor  a  month 
in  bed,  than  take  the  thrashing  I  gave  Fitzgetv 
aid.  The  dog  Dragon,  not  having  the  cause  of 
quarrel  explained,  was  too  prudent  to  show  a 
preference ;  but  his  canine  feelings  becoming 
excited,  he  had  a  little  fight  of  his  own,  taking 
the  odds,  and  a  small  bite  out  of  the  calf  of  my 
leg,  and  half  a  mouthful  of  skin  off  the  bone  of 
his  master's.  Fitzgerald  promised  to  be  more 
civil  for  the  future,  and  I  promised  never  to 
name  the  matter  to  the  company — "  the  lion  preys 
not  upon  carcasses" — but  he  and  the  dog  had 
called  murder  so  loudly,  when  the  voice  of  the 
one  was  cleared  and  the  other  exasperated,  that 
the  landlady  "came  in  at  the  death,"  and,  not- 
withstanding her  assertion  "  that  she  never  med- 
dled with  anybody's  business  but  her  own,"  it 
leaked  out,  and  I  encountered  several  anonymous 
shakes  of  the  hand,  behind  the  scenes,  a  day  or 
two  afterward. 

He  was  actually  the  unnatural  son  of  old  Ger- 
ald, the  manager  of  a  little  strolling  company 
through  some  small  towns  on  the  coast  of  Kent; 
the  same  man  with  whom  Howard  made  his  first 
appearance  in  his  successful  crying  capacity. 
Ashamed  of  his  father  and  his  name,  when  he 
joined  the  Norwich  circuit,  some  years  before, 
he  clapped  the  Fitz  to  it — wished  it  to  be  under- 
stood he  was  an  Irishman — and  gained  some 
sympathy  as  a  supposed  descendant  of  the  pa- 
triot of  that  name.  He  was  a  tyrant,  in  the  full- 
est sense  of  the  word,  to  his  inferiors;  but,  as  is 
always  the  case  with  such  animals,  he  was 
fawning  and  sycophantic  in  the  extreme  to  those 
above  him. 

Johnny  Winter  (by  the  excellent  imitation  of 
whom,  and  the  anecdotes  related  so  exquisitely 
by  my  lamented  friend  Charles  Matthews,  he 
could  alone  have  supported  a  large  family)  had 


32 


THIRTY   YEARS 


been  for  years  the  tailor  and  wardrobe-keeper  of 
the  theatre,  but,  when  Wilkinson  died,  he  had 
gone  into  business  as  a  breeehes-maker;  for  the 
cut  of  which  article,  "according  to  the  fashion 
of  the  time,"  he  was  inexpressibly  talented.  And 
to  use  his  own  words,  in  reply  to  "  How  are  you 
getting  on,  Winter  1"  "  Eh,  beautiful,  beautiful ! 
1  ha'  gottin  a  large  shop  and  no  custom — Ize 
doin'  fine!" 

I  was  introduced  to  this  curiosity  by  Cum- 
mings, the  contemporary  of  John  Kemble,  who 
had  been  in  the  York  company  for  more  than 
forty  years!  and  died  upon  the  stage,  while  per- 
forming Dumont,  in  the  tragedy  of  Jane  Shore, 
the  season  after  I  left  the  company.  Winter 
must  then  have  been  at  least  seventy  years  of 
age,  but  retained,  in  figure  and  manner  of  ad- 
dress, all  the  flippancy  of  youth  in  an  extraordi- 
nary degree.  He  was  a  great  admirer  of  the 
turf  (all  classes  of  Yorkshiremen  usually  are), 
and  always  dressed  like  a  jockey,  or  trainer,  in 
a  frock-coat,  small-clothes,  topped  boots,  striped 
waistcoat,  fancy  neckerchief,  with  a  horse  or 
dog  brooch,  and  a  whip  or  ash-sapling  in  his 
hand.  His  opinion  in  theatrical  affairs — which 
he  always  (often  without  being  asked)  gave 
without  respect  to  the  feelings  of  the  party — was, 
from  its  whimsicality  and  blunt  honesty,  both 
sought  for  and  dreaded.  Matthews  he  couldn't 
"abide;"  his  great  and  admired  particularity  in 
his  dress  was  very  objectionable  to  Johnny,  and 
he  used  to  say, 

"  Dang  the  feller,  he's  niver  sooted ;  there's 
John  Em'ry  'ull  put  on  ony  ko'it  as  cums  to 
hand,  an'  gang  on,  an'  mak  the  peepl'  laagh 
twice  as  much  as  what  he  can." 

It  was  part  of  his  duty  to  provide  clean  tow- 
els for  the  gentlemen  ;  and  the  nervous,  anxious 
Matthews  would  soil  a  napkin  from  one  end  to 
the  other  in  cleaning,  and  painting,  and  marking 
his  face,  again  and  again,  to  obtain  some  par- 
ticular expression ;  this  was  a  great  offence  to 
Winter;  and  when  he  had  left  the  room  he'd 
hold  it  up  and  exclaim, 

"  Did  ye  iver  see  sic  a  nasty  beast  as  that 
Mathoos?  all'ays  a  washin'  himsen;  noo  Mis- 
tre  Cummins  is  the  cleanest  man  amang  ye,  an' 
he  ne'er  washes  himsen  at  all." 

Poor  Cummings,  being  afflicted  with  a  dis- 
ease of  the  heart,  generally  dressed  at  home,  or 
nearly  so. 

The  sensitive,  fidgety  Matthews  was  actually 
annoyed  that  he  couldn't  obtain  any  approbation 
from  Winter;  and  when  the  farce  of  the  Re- 
view was  first  produced,  he  prevailed  upon  John- 
ny to  go  in  the  front,  and  give  him  his  opinion 
of  his  personation  of  Caleb  duotem,  in  which 
he  intended  to  make  (and  did)  a  great  hit.  At 
the  conclusion  of  the  performance,  while  un- 
dressing, Matthews  inquired, 

"  Well,  Johnny,  how  did  you  like  it  V 

"  Beautiful,  sir!  beautiful!  I  ne'er  seed  nau't 
like  it." 

"  Ay,  indeed !"  said  Matthews,  delighted  ; 
"I'm  glad  you  were  pleased,  Johnnv." 

"  Wha  could  help  but  be  pleased?"  said  Win- 
ter: "  i'twar  the  varri  best  actin'  1  iver  seed  i'  my 
life." 

"  Yes,  I  think  it  was  a  decided  hit,"  said 
Matthews,  gratified  at  having  at  length  made  a 
convert  of  Winter.  "  And  how  did  you  like  my 
song!  it  went  capitally,  didn't  it  1"  " 

"  Ye'r  song?"  said  Johnny,  with  a  vacant 
stare.  "Oh,  e'es,  I  remembers;  i'twar  a  poor 
jibber-jabber  thing;   I  thou't  nau't  on't— but  I 


ha'  seed  mony  sic  creturs  as  thim,  an-"  i'twar 
na'thral  as  life;  i'twar  beautiful,  sir!  beauti- 
ful!" 

Rejoiced  at  obtaining  such  unequivocal  ap- 
probation from  Winter,  who  had  never  praised 
him  before,  Matthews  continued, 

"  Yes,  Winter,  I  never  was  in  a  better  hu- 
mour for  acting;  I  think  it's  decidedly  my  very 
best  part;  don't  you,  Johnny  ?" 

"Me,  sir!"  said  the  implacable  Winter:  "I 
niver  thou't  nau't  aboot  ye — not  I !" 

"  Why^"  said  Matthews,  astonished,  "  haven't 
you  just  been  paying  my  acting  all  sorts  of  com- 
pliments?" 

"You?"  said  Johnny  :  "  I  niver  once  thou't  o' 
ye;  I  wur  praisin'  Mistre  Hope  i'  Dubbs;  he 
wur  th'  varri  best  i'  th'  hul  piece." 

Fitzgerald,  though  a  vile  actor,  to  give  the  dev- 
il his  due,  had  a  very  superior,  and  even  clas- 
sical knowledge  of  costume;  and  he  had  em- 
ployed Winter  to  make  him  a  suite  of  dresses  for 
Macbeth.  When  he  was  a  lad,  and  bearing  his 
real  name,  he  had  been  engaged  by  Wilkinson, 
but  discharged  after  a  week  or  two,  in  conse- 
quence of  his  impertinence  and  incapacity.  This 
Winter  recollected,  and,  while  fitting  on  a  robe, 
some  departure  he  had  made  from  his  instruc- 
tions caused  Fitzgerald  to  fly  into  a  violent  pas- 
sion, and  use  some  coarse  and  insolent  language 
to  the  old  man,  who  very  calmly  said,  when  the 
gust  was  over, 

"Now,  ye  see,  ye  mun  get  some  ane  else  to 
finish  t'  job,  or  do'tyersen;  ye  see,  I  recollect 
ye  when  ye  wur  a  poor  ragged  lad,  an'  wur 
kick'd  out  o'  theatre,  Mistre  Gerald;  ye  hadn't 
FUz  then  !"  and  very  coolly  walked  away. 

Charles  Wood  was  another  heir-loom  in  this 
establishment;  no  manager  dared  discharge  him ; 
he  had  been  a  member  of  the  company  even 
longer  than  Cummings,  and  was  a  much  older 
man ;  he  was  stone  deaf,  but  the  most  cheerful, 
good-tempered  creature  in  existence ;  he  had 
been  a  singer  in  his  youth,  and  was  the  original 
Eugene  in  the  Agreeable  Surprise,  at  the  Hay- 
market;  he  was  always  humming  or  whistling 
a  tune  about  the  theatre,  as  "gay  as  a  lark;" 
his  wife  was  in  her  dotage,  and  he  had  a  large 
family  of  children,  most  of  whom  had  turned  out 
badly ;  id  est,  the  boys  were  all  very  wicked,  and 
some  of  the  girls  very  good-natured  ;  but  he 
drew  comfort  even  from  them,  and  would  say, 
"Ay,  ay,  plenty  of —  and  rogues  in  my  family, 
but  no  cowards,"  in  reference  to  the  care-for- 
nothing  behaviour  of  one  of  his  boys  on  receiv- 
ing sentence  for  some  petty  crime. 

In  endeavouring  to  pull  on  a  tight  boot  one 
night  in  a  hurry,  I  boasted  that  I  had  "the  pa- 
tience of  Job" — which  people  are  very  apt  to  do 
when  they  have  lost  all  their  own — in  the  hear- 
ing of  Winter,  who,  from  long  habit,  was  a  fre- 
quent visiter  of  the  dressing-room. 

"Talk  o'  'the  patience  o'  Job!'"  said  John- 
ny. "  Look  at  Charley  Wood,  wi'  twenty-ane 
scamps  o'  childer,  a  queer  wife,  an'  a  guinea  a 
week  !  '  Patience  o'  Job,'  indeed  !  Job  be  d — ! 
look  at  Charley  Wood  a  whislin' !" 

During  my  sojourn  in  this  company  I  formed 
some  friendships  both  lasting  and  valuable. 
Among  them  I  made  one  in  rather  a  singular 
manner.  Paul  Bedford,  an  actor  and  singer, 
had  introduced  me  to  his  brother,  a  professed 
gambler,  and  a  partner  in  a  fashionable  hell  in 
Pall  Mall.  During  the  York  races  he  attended 
an  E.  O.  table  in  the  gentleman's  stand,  to  which 
I  had  the  entree.  There  were  three  horses  to  run 


PASSED    AMONG   THE    PLAYERS. 


33 


for  the  cup — Catton,  Fulford,  and,  I  think,  Ever- 
lasting. Catton  was  the  favourite,  at  great  odds, 
but  the  knowing  ones  had  some  notion  of  Ful- 
ford; and  Bedford  instructed  me  that  if,  at  a  cer- 
tain point  of  the  race,  Fulford  was  ahead,  to 
"  bet  all  I  /iad."  He  was  ahead  at  the  right  time 
and  place,  and  /  did  bet  a  guinea  with  an  ele- 
gant little  old  man,  with  powdered  hair  and  a 
cue ;  and  when  the  sport  was  over,  he  inquired 
loudly  for  the  gentleman  to  whom  he  had  lost  a 
guinea.     I  presented  myself. 

"  Why,  my  dear  sir,"  said  he,  with  great  glee, 
"how  is  it  possible  you  came  to  bet  on  my 
horse  1  Why,  1  had  not  the  most  remote  idea 
he  could  beat  Catton ;  my  dear  sir,  it  was  my 
own  horse  I  was  betting  against ;  I  merely  en- 
tered him  for  the  sake  of  the  sport,  and  to  please 
some  friends  who  were  anxious  to  see  what  he 
could  do.  Why,  you  must  be  a  most  excellent 
judge;  haven't  I  the  pleasure  of  knowing  you  1" 

"  Cowell,  sir,  is  my  name,"  said  I. 

"What,  of  the  theatre"?  why,  certainly,  cer- 
tainly !  1  thought  I  knew  your  face  ;  1  saw  you 
in  Goldfinch  last  night;  an  excellent  perform- 
ance—  excellent.  Allow  me  to  give  you  my 
card — Neville  King ;  you  must  dine  with  us  to- 
day; I'll  introduce  you  to  my  friends." 

And  the  bustling,  agreeable  little  old  man, 
named  me  to  some  dozen  noblemen  and  gentle- 
men as  his  friend,  "  Mr.  Cowell,  of  the  theatre, 
a  great  judge  of  horses,  and  a  winner  on  the  race." 
His  invitation  to  dine  with  the  club  was  earnest- 
ly repeated  by  several,  and  as  I  only  had  to  per- 
form Tiptoe,  in  the  farce  of  "  Ways  and  Means," 
I  consented.  We  had  a  jovial  time ;  1  sung  them 
some  songs  suitable  to  the  occasion,  was  indu- 
ced to  remain  longer  than  was  prudent,  and  when 
I  got  to  the  theatre  I  was  conscious  that  I  was 
very  drunk.  I  had,  fortunately,  little  change  to 
make  in  my  dress,  merely  a  footman's  jacket  in- 
stead of  my  coat,  and  a  silver  band  round  my 
hat,  for,  of  course,  I  always  wore  topped  boots 
and  breeches  in  the  race  week.  Johnny  Winter 
dosed  me  with  tea  and  pickles,  for,  to  his  taste,  1 
had  suffered  in  a  good  cause,  and  my  brother 
actors  managed  the  first  scene  among  them- 
selves; the  last  chiefly  consists  in  a  very  long 
speech,  in  which  Tiptoe  is  supposed  to  have  been 
taking  a  drop  too  much,  and  in  depicting  which 
I  had  gained  some  reputation ;  but  it  had  "  pleas- 
ed the  devil  drunkenness  to  give  place"  to  qualm- 
ish stupidity.  1  cunningly  avoided  any  effort 
at  acting,  and  as  a  large  portion  of  the  audience 
were  suffering,  probably  with  exactly  my  sensa- 
tions, the  whole  affair  passed  off  insipidly 
enough.  I  had  just  gained  my  dressing-room, 
and  began  to  sip  some  brandy-toddy,  which 
Winter  had  declared  "  the  sovereign'st  thing  on 
earth,"  when  Fitzgerald  strutted  into  the  room. 
"  Why,  Cowell !"  said  he,  "  I  never  was  so  dis- 
appointed in  my  life  !  Some  of  your  admirers," 
with  a  sneer,  "  told  me  you  were  very  fine  in  a 
drunken  character,  and  I  was  induced  to  see  the 
last  act.  Why,  my  good  sir,  you  have  mistaken 
the  style  of  Tiptoe's  intoxication  altogether;  he 
has  but  a  very  short  time  to  get  drunk  in,  and,  of 
course,  is  highly  excyt^d  from  the  immediate  ef- 
fects of  wine,  swallowed  in  large  quantities;  but 
you  lost  sight  entirely  of  the  exhilarating  char- 
acter of  drunkenness,  which  the  author  intends, 
and  looked  like  a  man  who  had  been  very  tipsy, 
and  wanted  to  go  to  bed  and  sleep  off  its  narcotic 
remains.  It  was  very  bad,  I  assure  you — you 
were  entirely  mistaken." 

When  he  had  closed  the  door,  Winter  said, 


"  That  poor  ignorant  thing  knows  more  aboot 
na'thral  actin'  than  I  iver  thou't  he  did." 

During  Colonel  Neville  King's  stay  at  York, 
he  showed  great  attention  to  myself  and  family. 
I  painted  a  portrait  of  Fulford,  with  which  he 
was  highly  delighted,  and  had  it  splendidly 
framed  and  sent  to  Lincoln,  where  he  resided. 

Probably  in  the  history  of  the  turf,  no  two  hu- 
man beings  were  ever  so  perfectly  pleased  at 
Losing  a  guinea  and  winning  a  guinea. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

"  "Tis  thou,  thrice  sweet  and  gracious  goddess  !  (address- 
ing myself  to  Liberty),  whom  all  in  public  and  private 
worship  ;  whose  taste  is  grateful,  and  ever  will  be  so,  till 
Nature  herself  shall  change.  No  tint  of  words  can  spot  thy 
snowy  mantle,  or  chymic  power  turn  thy  sceptre  into  iron  : 
with  thee  to  smile  upon  him  as  he  eats  his  crust,  the  swaia 
is  happier  than  his  monarch,  from  whose  court  thou  art  ex- 
iled."— Sterne. 

Of  all  the  members  of  the  York  company  at 
that  time,  none  ever  arrived  at  any  eminence  in 
the  profession  excepting  Mrs.  Humby.  She 
had  been  educated  a  singer,  was  excessively 
pretty,  and  in  simple,  innocent  characters,  a 
charming  actress.  She  was  the  best  Cowslip  I 
ever  played  with ;  her  husband  was  a  very  esti- 
mable, and  in  money  matters,  an  extremely  pru- 
dent young  man,  and  went  by  the  name  of 
"  Young  Calculation."  Playing  Solomon,  in 
the  Quaker,  one  night,  I  made  use  of  the  usual 
distich, 

"  Who  sees  a  pin  and  lets  it  lay,  may  want  a  pin  another  day. 
I'll  pick  it  up  and  stick  it  here  ;  a  pin  a  day's  a  groat  a 
year." 

When  Humby  met  me  in  the  morning,  he 
said,  "  Cowell,  you  must  alter  that  rhyme  of 
yours  :  it  isn't  correct;  I've  made  a  calculation. 
and  a  pin  a  day  is  tenpence  ha'penny  a  year,  if 
you  purchase  by  retail." 

The  circuit  consisted  of  York,  Hull,  Leeds, 
Doncaster,  and  Wakefield,  and  at  the  latter 
town  I  left  the  company — I  am  glad  to  say,  to  the 
great  annoyance  and  inconvenience  of  Fitzger- 
ald, for  I  was  an  enormous  favourite,  and  at 
that  time  there  were  few  professors  of  my  line  of 
business  out  of  London.  Kilner  succeeded  me, 
an  excellent  actor  in  hearty  old  men,  which  then 
I  didn't  play ;  he  came  soon  after  to  this  country, 
and  was  long  a  great  favourite  at  Boston,  but  of 
late,  like  the  genius  of  old,  he  has  kept  himself 
corked  up  in  a  bottle.  I  was  tempted  to  join  the 
Lincoln  circuit,  by  the  offer  of  one  half  more 
salary  than  I  received  at  York,  to  play  only  four 
times  a  week;  to  have  the  book  sent  to  me  to 
choose  the  character  I  preferred  performing  in 
every  piece ;  to  visit  seven  towns  in  a  year,  near- 
ly close  together,  and  have  half  the  clear  receipts 
of  one  night  in  each  for  a  benefit.  This  com- 
pany had  been  for  many  years  under  the  direc- 
tion of  Thomas  Robertson,  but  through  the  ridic- 
ulous speculations  he  had  entered  into  at  the  in- 
stigation of  a  particular  friend,  he  had  been 
thrown  into  prison  for  debt,  and  I  was  engaged 
by  a  committee  of  gentlemen  who  had  under- 
taken to  regulate  his  affairs,  and  had  secured  to 
me  the  strict  fulfilment  of  their  contract.  It  was 
sundown  on  Sunday  when  I  arrived  at  Lincoln. 
I  had,  with  my  wife  and  two  children,  posted  all 
day  from  Wakefield,  where  I  had  finished  my 
engagement  the  night  before,  and  performed 
Domine  Samson  and  Baron  Willinghurst ;  and 
after  putting  my  person  in  repair,  I  accompanied 
my  friend  Armstrong,  the  leading  actor  (whom 
I  had  known  in  the  York  company),  to  the  lodg- 


34 


THIRTY    YEARS 


ing  of  the  lady  manager.  I  am  not  considered 
a  faithful  historian  where  women  are  concerned. 
In  consequence  of  my  adoration  of  the  sex,  I 
have  been  accused  of  being  too  partial  in  my 
descriptions ;  but  if  any  of  my  readers  are  ac- 
quainted with  John  Mills  Brown,  the  comedian, 
and  will  imagine  him  dressed  in  a  very  low- 
necked,  short-sleeved,  black  velvet  gown,  large 
black  necklace  and  ear-rings,  dark  sorrel  hair 
turned  up  behind,  with  ringlets  in  front,  and  a 
very  beautiful  hand,  and  arm  bare  to  the  shoul- 
der, they'll  have  a  very  correct  likeness  of  Mrs. 
Fanny  Robertson,  whose  half-sister  she  was  on 
the  mother's  side.  Her  maiden  name  was  Ross, 
and  her  father  the  manager  of  the  Edinburgh 
Theatre,  "  long  time  ago,"  and  celebrated  in 
Irish  characters :  and  her  mother  was  said  to  be 
equal  to  Mrs.  Jordan. 

I  was  never  introduced  to  a  queen,  but  the  et- 
iquette observed  and  exacted  by  Mrs.  Robertson, 
I  imagine,  is  all  that  will  be  required,  if  I  ever 
do  go  to  court.  Her  boudoir  was  small,  but  ele- 
gant ;  an  easel  with  drawing  materials  on  a 
stand  in  one  corner,  a  superb  harp  in  another,  a 
pianoforte  and  a  profusion  of  books,  music, 
drawings,  and  other  "  knick-knacks."  Her  re- 
ception of  me  was  most  favourable,  and  had  she 
really  been  a  queen,  I  should  have  felt  certain 
of  a  seat  in  the  cabinet. 

The  next  night  the  theatre  opened  with  the 
comedy  of  Speed  the  Plough,  and  a  Chip  of 
the  Old  Block ;  I  playing  Sir  Abel  Handy  and 
Chip.  The  house  was  crowded,  and  I  made  a 
prodigious  hit. 

The  following  morning  I  paid  my  respects  to 
the  manager  at  the  Castle,  and  was  introduced 
to  the  deputy-governor,  alias  the  jailer,  a  very 
pleasant,  intelligent  man,  as  everybody  descri- 
bed him,  by  the  name  of  Merriweather.  Though 
his  appellative  didn't  agree  with  his  gloomy  oc- 
cupation, he  had  the  reputation  of  being  highly 
qualified  for  his  office  ;  he  was  formerly  a  tailor, 
but  having  "  a  soul  above  buttons,"  he  preferred 
the  name  of  his  trade  should  begin  with  a  J  in- 
stead of  a  T,  had  chosen  to  turn  keys  instead  of 
coats,  and  to  lock  up  rather  than  to  cut  out.  He 
was  a  great  amateur  in  horticulture,  mineralogy, 
conchology,  zoology,  and  perhaps  all  the  "  olo- 
gies"  excepting,  probably,  ontology;  his  power 
of  expression  in  matters  of  science  was  a  per- 
fect oglio,  and  in  attempting  to  convey  his  "  use- 
ful knowledge"  to  the  uninformed,  he  more  un- 
intelligibly mixed  it  up  for  his  own  exclusive 
gratification.  The  walls  of  his  dining-room  (he 
gave  excellent  dinners)  were  decorated  with 
stuffed  ducks,  distorted  cockle-shells,  and  "other 
skins  of  ill-shaped  fishes."  His  admiration  of 
the  arts  and  sciences  had  caused  him  to  enclose 
nearly  the  whole  of  the  Castle  yard  for  a  private 
garden ;  though  it  was  originally  intended  for 
the  use  of  prisoners  for  debt  (then  often  for  life) 
and  traitors,  and  other  delinquents  to  stretch 
their  legs  in,  before  the  law  decided  upon  stretch- 
ing their  necks;  but  as  the  dessert-tables  of  the 
bishop,  the  sheriff,  and  the  judges  were  seasona- 
bly supplied  with  the  delicacies  it  produced,  his 
taste,  and  that  of  his  pineapples,  were  greatly 
admired.  It  was  cultivated  with  both  care  and 
skill,  under  his  direction,  by  some  petty  rascals 
who  were  indulged  in  digging  to  the  clanking 
music  made  by  their  own  fetters  encountering 
the  blade  of  a  spade  ;  all  wicked  gardeners  were 
sentenced  to  six  months'  prison  discipline  at 
least,  if  he  had  any  influence  in  their  case. 

"  Mr.  Robertson  is  a  particular  friend  of  mine, 


Mr.  Cowell,"  said  this  St.  Peter:  "  I  am  devoted- 
ly  fond  of  the  drama,  and  have  given  him  liberty 
to  walk  in  my  heaven  on  earth,  as  I  call  my  ru- 
ral sanctum." 

Unlocking  a  huge  iron  bar,  which  secured  a 
small,  though  high  gate,  overarched  with  two 
prodigious  jaw-bones  of  a  whale,  the  merits  of 
which,  after  explaining,  I  have  do  doubt,  in  very 
scientific,  ossified  language,  we  thridded  the 
"narrow  pathway"  till  we  overtook  my  new 
manager,  the  privileged  Jonas. 

He  was  a  small,  handsome-featured  man,  with 
amiability  and  humility  quietly  claiming  pos- 
session of  the  only  expressions  his  countenance 
was  capable  of.  He  was  dressed  in  a  dark-col- 
oured morning-gown,  soiled  with  powder  on  the 
collar,  though  he  had  none  in  his  hair;  his  beard 
was  long,  shoes  untied,  and  his  whole  appear- 
ance forlorn  and  slovenly.  Every  debtor  I  ever 
saw  in  prison  in  my  life  always  looked  as  if  he 
owed  money  and  could  not  pay  it — though  I'm 
told  sometimes  their  looks  belie  them. 

His  welcome  was  painfully  polite,  and  our 
short  conversation  ended  with  his  expressing  a 
hope  that  he  might  shortly  meet  me  in  some 
other  than  "  (his  lorctchcd  place.''  Looking  round 
upon  the  most  beautiful  garden  I  ever  beheld,  I 
thought  of  Sterne's  Starling,  and  imagined  I  saw 
"  I  can't  get  out"  glistening  in  his  moistened  eye. 

On  my  return  to  my  lodging,  if  Falstaff  had. 
met  my  landlady  in  the  passage  as  I  did,  he 
would  very  probably  have  said,  "  Heigh,  heigh  t 
the  devil  rides  upon  a  fiddlestick,"  for  as  she 
described  her  sensations,  she  was  all  in  a  "  flus- 
terJication."  Following  me  up  stairs,  she  flounced 
herself  into  a  chair,  and  with  scarcely  breath  to 
utler,  exclaimed, 

"  Oh,  sir,  what  do  you  think  "?  the  high-sheriff 
has  been  here  and  inquired  for  you,  asked  me 
when  he  could  be  sure  to  find  you  at  home,  and 
has  left  his  card.  Heaven  help  me,  that  I  should 
have  ever  let  my  lodgings  to  a  player ;  but  as 
what's  done  can't  be  undone,  get  out  the  back 
way  as  fast  as  you  can,  and  make  your  escape." 

As  a  visit  from  this  important  functionary  in 
England  is  never  paid,  in  his  official  capacity, 
but  to  gentlemen  who  are  either  suspected,  or 
guilty  of  high  treason;  and  as  my  poor  landlady 
couldn't  imagine  he  would  call  upon  me  in 
any  other  way,  she  had  pictured  to  herself  my 
incarceration  in  the  keep  of  the  Castle,  thence 
drawn  on  a  hurdle  to  the  place  of  execution,  my 
head  popped  upon  a  pole  like  a  robin  redbreast, 
and  the  balance  of  my  body  dangled  from  a  gib- 
bet. 

The  direction  of  her  astonishment  was  chan- 
ged, though  rather  increased  than  diminished, 
when,  on  reading  the  card,  1  calmly  said,  "  Colo- 
nel Neville  King— oh,  my  dear  madam,  he's  a 
particular  friend  of  mine." 

"A  friend  o'  yourn,  sir!"  said  the  woman,  al- 
most in  a  scream.  "  My  goodness  gracious !  a 
friend  o'  yourn'?  Why,  he's  one  of  the  greatest 
gentlemen  in  the  county;  he's  the  high-sheriff, 
sir:  only  to  think  of  his  being  a  particular  friend 
o'  yourn.  "Why,  sir,  I  assure  you  he  never 
darkened  my  doors  afore,  though  I've  always 
had  the  most  genteelest  of  lodgers.  Sally!  put 
some  more  fire  on  in  Mr.  Coward's  parlour! 
That's  your  name,  I  believe,  sir!" 

"  No,  madam— Cowell,"  I  replied. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Cowen.  I'll  recollect,"  said  she; 
"only  being  so  put  out  makes  a  body  forget. 
That  gal  has  never  dusted  these  chairs,  I  de- 
clare.   My  last  lodger  was  a  lawyer's  clerk  and 


PASSED   AMONG    THE    PLAYERS. 


35 


his  lad)',  and  Colonel  King  never  once  thought 
o'  calling  upon  him.  I  can't  help  thinking  of 
the  colonel's  being  your  particular  friend.  I 
must  get  another  gal ;  she's  too  lazy  for  any- 
thing, I  do  declare ;  there's  not  a  drop  of  water. 
Sally!  bring  a  nice  fresh  pitcher  of  water  for 
Mr.  Cowitch !  There,  I  believe  I  have  called 
you  wrong  again." 

"  Cow-ell,  madam,"  said  I,  with  emphasis. 

"  Yes,  sir,  Gno-Ml ;  yes,  Ml,  /tell  1  I  shall  be 
sure  to  recollect  it  now.  As  I  said  before,  Mr. 
Cow-/ull,  I  always  let  to  none  but  genteel  peo- 
ple ;  never  took  in  a  player  before,  and  wouldn't 
you,  only  you  was  so  highly  recommended.  I 
must  make  that  gal  put  this  room  nice  to  rights 
every  day  ;  perhaps  Colonel  King  may  call 
again.  What  sweet  children  you've  got,  Mr. 
Cow—" 

"Ell,"  said  I. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Cowhell.  Send  'em  down  to  get  a 
cake  when  they're  hungry.  I'll  have  your  win- 
dows cleaned  to-morrow,  and  put  you  another 
little  strip  of  carpet  in  the  bedroom,  and  try  to 
make  you  nice  and  comfortable.  If  Colonel 
King  calls,  I'll  tell  him  to  walk  up  V 

I  nodded,  and  away  she  bustled  to  tell  the 
wonderful  event  to  her  husband  and  her  custom- 
ers, for  she  kept  a  pastry  shop.  It  was  still  long 
before  a  decent  dinner-hour,  and,  minutely  di- 
rected by  my  landlady,  I  set  off  to  return  the 
colonel's  call.  On  the  almost  inaccessible  hill, 
called  the  Strait,  which  divides  the  lower  from 
the  upper  town,  I  met  the  "  fine  old  English  gen- 
tleman" on  his  way  down  to  request  me  to  dine 
with  him  and  his  brother,  a  clergyman,  with 
Avhom  he  was  desirous  I  should  be  acquainted, 
which  I  readily  accepted,  and  we  continued  our 
walk  through  the  city ;  he  introducing  me,  as 
we  went,  to  those  who  were  worth  knowing,  and 
stopping  several  times  to  relate  the  guinea  anccr 
dote  and  extol  my  judgment  in  horseflesh.  His 
brother  I  found  more  of  the  man  of  the  world 
than  the  colonel,  but  extremely  kind  and  agree- 
able ;  my  picture  of  the  horse  was  criticised 
with  judgment,  softened  by  politeness  and  parti- 
ality ;  he  was  very  conversant  with  Shakspeare, 
and  regretted  that  the  theatre,  being  under  the 
"  shade  of  the  Cathedral,"  he  couldn't  with  pro- 
priety witness  my  performance;  but,  out  of  the 
Fulford  cup,  drank  to  his  speedily  having  that 
pleasure  in  London.  I  believe  the  prayers  of 
priests  are  attended  to  sometimes.  A  conversa- 
tion between  the  player  and  the  parson,  on  the 
inutility  of  the  drama  in  a  moral  point  of  view, 
he  armed  with  kind  feeling  and  George  Barn- 
well, I  with  experience  and  the  Beggar's  Opera, 
was  suddenly  interrupted  by  the  colonel's  say- 
ing abruptly, 

"  Brother,  I  have  an  excellent  idea.  Mr.  Rob- 
ertson has  for  years  been  urging  me  to  lend  my 
name  to  patronise  a  house — you  know  what  I 
mean — to  put  at  the  top  of  the  play-bill,  '  By  de- 
sire of  Colonel  King,'  and  all  that  sort  of  thing ; 
but,  though  I  wish  him  well,  yet  I  have  always 
refused,  for  I  should  feel  mortified  by  having 
anything  to  do  with  the  matter  unless  I  had  a 
good  house,  that  is,  an  overflowing  house ;  but 
I  was  thinking  Mr.  Cowell  and  myself  could 
make  a  great  thing  of  it  between  us  at  his  ben- 
efit, eh  1  High-sheriff  of  the  county,  and  all 
that — Lady  Monson's  in  town,  and  she'll  get  the 
Earl  of  Warwick  to  go ;  and  then  there's  Heron — 
I  never  asked  any  favours  of  these  people  be- 
fore, and  I'll  ask  everybody  ;  and,  eh— what  do 
you  think,  brother  V 


The  parson  thought  it  excellent;  I  thought  i: 
capital,  and  the  next  day,  Wednesday,  he  wa^ 
to  go  electioneering  for  "our  benefit,"  as  he 
called  it,  and  I  was  to  open  a  box-sheet  in  the 
morning.  I  did,  of  course,  as  he  desired,  and  on 
the  following  day  every  seat  was  taken  ;  the  re- 
ceipts were  larger  than  any  ever  before  in  Lin- 
colu.  Singular  to  relate,  the  manager,  who  was 
respected  by  everybody,  was  released  from  prison 
on  that  very  evening,  and  I  led  the  good  old  man 
on  the  stage  amid  the  deafening  cheers  of  the 
audience. 

After  a  pleasant  and  profitable  season,  the 
company  moved  to  Newark-upon-Trent,  the 
distance  performed  in  about  two  hours.  I  had 
introductions  to  everybody  from  everybody.  The 
pride  of  the  theatrical  population  caused  an  ef- 
fort to  be  made  to  exceed  the  Lincoln  receipti, 
on  my  benefit  night  there,  without  the  aid  of  in- 
dividual patronage;  and,  though  the  house  was 
smaller,  some  well-applied  guinea  tickets  gave 
them  a  powerful  pound-and-shilling  victory  over 
their  more  aristocratic  neighbours.  The  same 
success  attended  me  at  Grantham,  Spalding, 
Boston,  Peterborough,  and  Huntingdon;  and 
my  return  through  the  circuit  made  "  assurance 
doubly  sure."  The  only  unalloyed  period  of  per- 
fect content  and  comfort  I  ever  experienced  (in 
a  theatrical  point  of  view)  were  the  nearly  two 
years  I  passed  in  this  company.  We  never 
played  more  than  four  nights  in  a  week,  with 
the  exception  of  the  race  week  at  Huntingdon, 
and  then  we  received  one  third  more  salary.  To 
the  off-play  days  the  manager  laid  no  claim,  for 
rehearsals  or  any  other  purpose ;  the  actor's 
time  was  his  own;  it  was  considered  not  paid 
for,  and,  therefore,  not  taxed ;  excepting  prob- 
ably twice  in  a  year,  the  production  of  some 
showy  piece  would  make  a  night  rehearsal  ne- 
cessary; and  then,  the  voluntary  assistance  of 
the  company  was  requested  in  a  respectful  and 
affectionately- worded  note  addressed  to  each  in- 
dividual, from  the  highest  to  the  lowest,  and  the 
business  of  the  evening  closed  with  an  econom- 
ical repast.  Stars  were  never  engaged  to  "  strut 
their  hour  upon  the  stage,"  for  twenty  pounds,  to 
the  disadvantage,  by  comparison,  of  the  poor 
stock-actor,  working  haidfor  twenty  shillings  & 
week.  The  performers  were  selected  with  a  rigid 
regard  to  moral  worth  and  deportment,  and  with 
as  much  talent  as  is  (I  am  sorry  to  say  so  sel- 
dom) met  with,  hand  in  hand.  The  conse- 
quence was,  the  actors  and  actresses  were  treat- 
ed like  human  beings  by  the  citizens,  and,  ac- 
cording to  their  grade  and  acquirements,  had 
social  intercourse  with  their  fellow-men :  they 
remained,  generally,  in  the  company  for  years. 
Among  themselves  they  were  like  brothers  and 
sisters,  but  paying  the  respect  due  to  age  and 
superior  talents  always  observed  in  well-regula- 
ted families. 

Show  me  a  manager  on  this  wide  continent 
of  America  who  has  ever  had  (or  has)  the  in- 
stinctive moral  propriety  of  feeling  to  pursue 
such  a  course.  No :  they  say,  "  Any  way  to  make 
money  or  get  a  living."  But,  as  Colman  ob- 
serves in  one  of  his  plays,  "  the  ways  be  so  foul 
and  the  bread  be  so  dirty,  that  it  would  turn  a 
nice  stomach  to  eat  on't." 

On  each  play  day  we  rehearsed  the  perform- 
ance of  the  night,  with  scenery,  properties,  and 
the  most  scrupulous  exactness;  this  over-and- 
over-again  drilling  was  a  nuisance  to  those  who 
understood  their  business,  and  I  was  one  who 
thought  so,  but  it  secured  the  pieces  being  letter 


36 


THIRTY   YEARS 


perfect,  and  you  were  sure  to  have  a  subordinate 
stand  where  you  wished,  say  what  he  should, 
and  when  he  ought.  No  Richard  in  that  com- 
pany would  say,  "  Hark  !  the  shrill  trumpet," 
and  then  hear  a  Too-ti-to-too !  two  minutes  af- 
terward ;  but  there  the  sound  was  "  echo  to  the 
sense."  The  same  plays  and  farces  which  were 
performed  in  one  town  were  repeated  in  the 
next,  in  the  same  rotation;  and  each  performer 
retained  the  same  entertainment  he  had  at  first 
selected  for  the  whole  year ;  as,  for  instance,  I 
took  Charles  Dibdin's  very  agreeable  operatic 
play  of  the  Farmer's  Wife,  and  Midas,  for  my 
first  benefit,  and  they  were  only  played  on  that 
occasion  everywhere  through  the  circuit,  and  the 
next  year  considered  stock  property.  In  every 
town  one  or  two  plays  or  farces  were  "  got  up," 
of  which  the  performers  were  provided  with 
books  or  parts  at  least  a  month  before ;  and 
these  collectively  formed  a  fresh  list  to  start  with 
at  Lincoln.  The  manager,  with  very  good  taste, 
proved  his  superior  confidence  in  the  probity  of 
the  softer  sex,  by  employing  a  female  money- 
taker  or  trcasuress,  a  fine,  fat,  handsome  woman, 
by  the  name  of  Stanard,  and  mother  of  the  ami- 
able "  Sister  Rachael,"  now  in  this  country. 

Mrs.  Robertson  was  a  highly-accomplished, 
strong-minded  woman,  and,  notwithstanding  her 
uninteresting  appearance,  a  very  superior  ac- 
tress; but  often  loose  and  careless,  from  the  ab- 
sence of  that  wholesome  stimulus  to  ambition — 
competition.  Her  husband  was  humility  per- 
sonified; he  employed  a  stage-manager,  and 
when  he  visited  the  theatre  of  a  morning,  you 


might 


from  his  manner,  imagine  it  belonged  to 


any  person  but  himself;  as  he  passed  round  the 
scenery  on  tiptoe,  to  take  a  seat  at  the  corner  of 
the  prompter's  table,  he'd  bow  to  each  actor  he 
met  in  the  most  respectful  manner.  The  inner 
lapel  of  his  coat  would  be  literally  lined  with 
scraps  of  paper  about  two  inches  big  pinned  to 
it,  on  which  were  written  his  memoranda  for  the 
day;  watching  a  leisure  moment,  he'd  beckon 
you  towards  him,  and  unpinning  one  of  his  little 
manuscripts,  read  as  follows :  "  Mr.  Cowell  will 
be  good  enough  to  name  what  song  he  will  sing 
on  Thursday  evening,  the  17th  day  of  June 
next" — it  would  then  be  probably  the  latter  end 
of  May — "  the  performance  being  by  desire  of 
the  Lincoln  Sharp  Shooters." 

'•'  Oh,  any  you  please,  sir,"  I  would  reply. 

"  I  would  rather  you  would  be  kind  enough  to 
name  one,"  he'd  sav,  timidly. 

"  Well,  sir,  the  Nightingale  Club." 

"  Wait  an  instant,  if  you  please  ;"  then  turn- 
ing the  paper,  he'd  write  on  the  bjck,  "Mr. 
Cowell  is  good  enough  to  say  he  will  sing  the 
song  of  the  Nightingale  Club  on  Thursday  even- 
ing, the  17th  day  of  June  next,  the  performance 
being  by  desire  of  the  Lincoln  Sharp  Shooters," 
and  repin  it  in  the  vacant  place.  Now  this  was 
all  very  ridiculous,  but  it  was  very  inoffensive, 
and  infinitely  preferable  to  the  arrogant,  insolent 
manners  of  some  living  managers,  whom  I  shall 
as  faithfully  describe  in  the  next  volume. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

"  Why,  everything  adheres  together  ;  that  no  dram  of  a 
scruple,  no  scruple  "1  a  scruple,  no  obstacle,  no  incredulous 
or  unsafe  circumstance — What  can  be  said  ?  Nothing  that 
can  be  can  come  between  me  and  the  full  prospect  of  my 
hopes.  Well,  Jove,  not  I,  is  the  doer  of  this,  and  he  is  to 
be  thanked."— Twelfth  Night. 

At  about  this  period,  Stephen  Kemble  had 


been  appointed  manager  of  Drury  Lane  by  the 
committee  for  the  trustees,  and  immediately 
proved  his  friendship,  and  the  high  opinion  he 
entertained  of  my  talent,  by  offering  me  an  en- 
gagement of  six  pounds  per  week,  to  be  increas- 
ed to  seven  and  eight,  in  the  event  of  my  success, 
for  the  following  seasons;  explaining,  that  the 
salaries  were  greatly  reduced,  but  that  this  sum 
gave  me  all  the  privileges  of  the  theatre  usually 
granted  to  the  principal  performers;  that  neither 
Harley  nor  Munden  were  expected  to  return,  and 
the  opening,  therefore,  was  an  excellent  one; 
and  assuring  me  he  had  the  greatest  confidence 
in  my  being  received  most  favourably  by  a  Lon- 
don audience. 

Highly  elated,  I  instantly  submitted  the  affair 
to  Mrs.  Robertson,  for  her  advice  and  opinion. 

"  It  cannot  be  disguised  nor  denied,  Mr.  Cow- 
ell," said  this  clever  woman,  "that  the  loss  of 
your  services  will  be  severely  felt  by  Mr.  Rob- 
ertson ;  it  may  be  long  (if  ever)  before  he  may 
be  able  to  obtain  a  gentleman  so  highly  esteem- 
ed by  the  friends  of  the  theatre  to  supply  your 
place ;  but  I  most  solemnly  pledge  myself  that 
no  selfish  consideration  influences  my  advice 
one  atom,  but,  in  the  spirit  of  sincere  and  disin- 
terested friendship,  I  urge  you  to  refuse  this  offer. 
Your  income  here,  you  are  aware,  with  your 
benefits  for  the  last  year,  was  eight  pounds  per 
week,  within  a  few  shillings,  and  this  year  it  will 
exceed  that  sum  ;  this,  you  must  recollect,  is  for 
every  week  in  the  year;  there  you  have  a  vaca- 
tion ;  and  without  a  name  long  and  conspicu- 
ously known  in  London,  you  can  employ  your 
talent  to  little  profit  during  that  period  in  the 
country.  Lent,  Passion-week,  and  other  holy- 
days,  with  the  respect  demanded  to  be  paid  at 
the  death  of  every  member  of  an  aged  and  ex- 
tensive royal  family,  will  reduce  your  yearly  in- 
come nearly  one  half,  and  your  expenses  in. 
London  will  more  than  double  what  is  required 
to  live  as  you  do  here.  There  is  not  the  most 
remote  probability  of  a  diminution  in  your  pop- 
ularity, and  the  fact  that  you  have  refused  a 
London  engagement  for  the  sake  of  remaining 
in  this  company,  would  so  flatter  the  vanity  of 
these  kind-hearted  people,  that  they  would  feel 
bound  by  gratitude  to  support  you,  with  their  ut- 
most means,  forever.  Mr.  Robertson  is  getting 
old" — here  she  gave  a  little  shake  of  her  head, 
and  curled  down  her  mouth  as  people  usually  do 
after  taking  a  glass  of  sea-water,  or  a  seidlitz 
powder  without  sugar — "and  he  has  more  than 
once  spoken  of  your  succeeding  him  in  the 
management;  nature  never  intended  you  to  be 
in  a  subordinate  situation  in  life ;  here  you  have 
everything  your  own  way ;  but  in  London,  no 
matter  what  success  you  may  meet  with,  envy, 
jealousy,  and  various  petty  annoyances  (the 
most  tormenting  of  any),  will  inevitably  sur- 
round you;  the  management  encumbered  by  a 
committee  of  noblemen  and  gentlemen  totally  ig- 
norant or  unmindful  of  the  feelings  and  rights 
of  actors,  and  quarrelling  among  themselves 
who  shall  most  embarrass  the  interests  of  the 
theatre  to  advance — in  defiance  of  public  taste — 
some  favourite  mistress,  and,  through  her  influ- 
ence, probably  those  who  may  impede  or  inter- 
fere with  your  advancement;  and — you  may  fail 
— and  then,  to  return  here,  with  diminished  lustre, 
would  be  vexatious  to  yourself;  and  these  good 
people,  relying  on  a  London  judgment,  might 
suspect  they  had  been  mistaken  in  your  talent, 
and  adopt  their  opinion.  There,  I  have  made 
you  a  long  speech,  and  given  you  my  most  hon- 


PASSED   AMONG   THE    PLAYERS. 


37 


est  opinion  ;  and  now  do  as  you  please ;  I  shall 
never  say  a  word  farther  on  ihe  subject." 

Half  convinced  of  the  truth  and  policy  of  her 
advice,  I  might  probably  have  adopted  it,  but 
that  she  unfortunately  said,  "  You  may  fail;" 
this  wounded  my  pride,  and,  to  remove  all  doubt 
of  such  a  possibility,  I  "screwed  my  courage  to 
the  sticking  place"  and  accepted  the  engage- 
ment. Every  day,  prior  to  my  departure,  I  be- 
came more  fully  satisfied  with  the  decision  I  had 
made.  From  the  first  hour  I  became  an  actor, 
every  energy  of  mind  and  body  had  been  stretch- 
ed to  its  utmost  to  achieve  this  grand  desidera- 
tum, and  now  the  hoped-for  stake  for  which  1 
played  came  to  my  hand  without  my  seeking  it, 
with  advantages  unprecedented — Stephen  Kem- 
ble,  my  proved  friend,  the  manager,  and  a  va- 
cancy in  my  line  of  business  in  the  theatre  that 
might  not  occur  again  for  years.  My  suc- 
cess with  the  public  my  vanity  and  experience 
would  not  permit  me  to  doubt  for  a  moment,  for, 
after  passing,  with  the  highest  approbation,  "  the 
rough  brake"  of  a  York  audience — the  most  dif- 
ficult to  please  in  England — I  had  little  to  fear 
from  the  acknowledged  liberality  of  a  London 
one.  On  my  last  night  the  company  and  the 
manager  gave  me  a  handsome  supper,  and. 
with  the  good  wishes  of  a  host  of  friends,  I  set 
off  for  London,  and  the  first  play-bill  I  saw,  on 
entering  the  metropolis,  announced  Mr.  Mun- 
deii's  re-engagement  at  Drury  Lane. 

I  found  the  theatre  in  a  deplorable  condition; 
an  indifferent  company,  and  badly  selected,  play- 
ing to  literally  empty  benches,  excepting  when 
Kean  performed,  and  his  attraction  had,  from 
the  constant  repetition  of  his  plays,  been  worn 
to  a  shadow  of  what  it  had  been.  To  appear  on 
any  night  when  he  didn't  act,  was  assuredly  to 
have  an  empty  house ;  therefore,  by  the  advice 
of  Stephen  Kemble,  I  opened  in  Samson  Raw- 
bold,  in  "  Tkc  Iron  Chest"  and  Nicholas,  in  the 
"  Midnight  Hour."  My  success  was  equal  to 
my  warmest  wishes.  Several  members  of  the 
committee,  particularly  Colonel  Douglass,  paid 
me  some  high  compliments,  and  Kean,  Kemble, 
and  the  enthusiastic  "little"  Knight  were  warm 
in  their  congratulations.  The  song,  which  is 
not  an  effective  one,  was  loudly  encored,  which 
Mr.  Smart,  the  leader,  assured  me,  in  the  green- 
room, he  did  not  remember  to  have  been  so  hon- 
oured since  the  part  was  originally  played  by 
Suett.  The  newspapers  were  all  very  appro- 
ving; numbers  of  my  Lincolnshire  friends  had 
visited  London  for  the  simple-hearted  purpose 
of  giving  me  their  support,  and,  by  using  their 
influence  with  their  friends  in  town,  the  house 
was  better  than  usual,  though  it  was  the  same 
night  that  Farren  made  his  bolstcrcd-up  hit  at 
Covent  Garden. 

Everything  in  the  power  of  Stephen  Kemble 
to  aid  my  advancement  was  attended  to  with 
great  care ;  I  was  never  called  upon  to  play  any- 
thing but  a  principal  character,  and  his  personal 
kindness  gave  me  an  enviable  position  in  the 
company ;  my  chiefest  annoyance  was  my  not 
having  enough  to  do.  The  Lyceum  closed,  after 
a  few  weeks,  to  make  room  for  Matthews  with 
a  new  entertainment,  called  "  A  Trip  to  Paris," 
and  Harley  rejoined  Drury  Lane;  he  was  an 
established  favourite  with  the  audience,  and  a 
very  general  actor.  He  had  founded  his  style 
originally  on  Fawcett  and  Bannister,  but  he 
didn't  hesitate  to  draw  largely  on  Munden,  Lis- 
ton,  Knight,  Matthews,  De  Camp,  and  others, 
according  to  the  nature  of  the  character  he  had 


to  represent,  or  all  of  them  at  once,  if  the  part  re- 
quired their  varied  powers ;  but  out  of  the  patch- 
work he  made  a  very  agreeable  performance,  and 
only  a  nice  observer  would  discover  the  stitch- 
ing together.  He  was  most  indefatigable  in 
his  profession,  and  in  private  life  an  inoffensive 
man,  though  worldly-minded,  and  extremely  pe- 
nurious. We  had  been  old  friends  at  Brighton, 
and  when  I  first  went  to  London  he  took  me  to 
his  lodgings  to  see  his  collection  of  prints.  He 
had  a  handsome  apartment  over  a  book-shop  in 
Bedford-street,  Covent  Garden,  the  wall  of  which 
was  decorated  with  a  large  number  of  portraits 
of  actors,  all  guarantied  to  have  been  given  to 
him  in  the  handwriting  of  each  on  the  margin. 
Being  so  early  in  the  day  that  a  refusal  was  cer- 
tain, he  ventured  to  point  to  the  sideboard  and 
invite  me  to  take  a  little  brandy,  and  made  me 
promise,  very  faithfully,  that  some  day  I  would 
take  a  chop  with  him,  which  promise,  while  in 
England,  he  more  than  a  dozen  times  made  me 
repeat ;  but  the  day  never  arrived,  nor  did  I  ever 
hear  of  any  human  being  ever  taking  a  meal  at 
his  table.  He  was  a  good  son  and  brother.  His 
mother  and  two  sisters  resided  with  him.  They 
kept  no  servant,  and  when  he  played  they  would 
be  seen  seated  above,  at  the  corner  next  the 
stage,  in  the  second  tier  of  boxes,  for  the  double 
purpose  of  starting  the  applause  and  saving  fire 
and  candle  at  home ;  and  frequently,  when  it 
happened  to  be  a  dull,  poor  house,  they  would 
have  all  the  applause  to  themselves,  and,  being 
very  persevering  in  their  approbation,  they  were 
often  noticed  by  the  audience,  to  the  great 
amusement  of  the  actors  and  the  constant  vis- 
iters of  the  theatre.  But  they  continued  most 
faithfully  to  discharge  this  duty  for  years,  and 
to  their  timely  hints  Harley  was  indebted  for 
many  an  encore  and  round  of  applause. 

Mr.  Barnard,  who  was  the  walking  gentleman 
of  the  establishment,  had  solicited  the  services 
of  Russell,  Gattie,  Oxberry,  myself,  and  Harley, 
to  play  for  his  wife's  benefit,  who  belonged  to 
the  Greenwich  company.  We  hired  a  glass- 
coach,  alias  a  better  sort  of  hack,  for  the  day, 
and  at  about  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  we 
called  and  took  up  Harley,  the  last  of  the  party. 
After  the  rehearsal  of  Wild  Oats,  with  "  the  fol- 
lowing powerful  cast"  Rover — Russell  (who 
would  cheerfully  travel  a  hundred  miles,  get  up 
in  the  middle  of  the  night,  and  give  five  pounds 
into  the  bargain  to  play  that  character  at  any 
time);  Ephraim — Oxberry;  Sir  George — Gat- 
tie ;  Sim — Cowell ;  and  John  Dory — Harley, 
it  was  agreed  that  each  should  write  down  an 
order  for  a  cutlet,  or  chop,  or  anything  they 
pleased  for  dinner,  without  the  knowledge  of  the 
others,  and  then  make  it  a  general  repast;  when 
it  came  to  Harley's  turn  he  declined,  stating,  as 
an  excuse,  that  he  had  dined  before  he  set  out. 
"What,  before  ten  o'clock  1"  says  Russell: 
"  why,  Jack,  you  dine  as  early  as  poor  Tokely 
used  to  do.  but  I  hope  it's  not  from  the  same 
cause."  Tokely  was  a  very  intemperate,  but 
extremely  clever  man.  Fawcett  was  stage-man- 
ager of  the  Haymarket  Theatre,  where  Tokely 
was  an  immense  favourite;  he  frequently  came 
quite  inebriated  to  rehearsal,  and  Fawcett  under- 
took to  advise  him  to  refrain  from  drinking  liquor 
in  the  morning. 

"  I  am  fond  of  my  glass  of  wine  after  dinner," 
said  Fawcett,  "  and  a  glass  of  grog  after  supper, 
but  to  taste  liquor  before  dinner  is  a  vile,  ungen- 
tlemanly  habit ;  and  for  Heaven's  sake,  Tokely, 
oblige  me  and  yourself  by  refraining  for  the  fu- 


38 


THIRTY   YEARS 


ture;  promise  me  you'll  never  drink  anything 
till  after  dinner." 

Tokely  pledged  himself  that  he  would  not; 
but  a  few  days  afterward  he  was  absent  after 
the  time  called  for  the  last  rehearsal  of  a  new 
piece;  when  he  arrived  Fawcett  was  about  to 
rebuke  him  for  his  neglect,  but  caught  a  whirl' 
of  his  breath. 

"  Faugh !"  said  Fawcett,  "  Mr.  Tokely,  I'm 
ashamed  of  you ;  you've  been  drinking  again ; 
remember  what  you  promised  !" 

"But,  sir,  I've  dined,"  said  Tokely,  very  de- 
murely. 

"  Dined  V  said  Fawcett :  "  what,  before  eleven 
•o'clock  in  the  morning  1" 

"  Yes,"  said  the  comedian,  "  I  dined  early, 
and  that  caused  my  being  rather  late  at  rehear- 
sal." 

Poor  Tokely  continued  to  dine  early,  and 
■died  very  soon  afterward. 

When  the  varied  dinner  was  served,  Harley 
seated  himself  at  the  window  with  a  newspaper, 
but  the  savoury  odour  of  the  viands  was  too  much 
for  his  hungry  resolution. 

"That  smells  deliciously,"  said  Harley:  "al- 
low me  to  take  a  little  bit  on  a  morsel  of  bread." 

And  though  we  all  invited  him  to  have  a  plate 
and  chair,  and  partake,  he  still  continued  to  re- 
fuse, and  "  pick  a  little  bit"  of  everything,  and 
cheerfully  took  a  glass  or  two  of  wine  with  us 
all.  Russell,  who  was  a  great  wag,  borrowed  a 
pound  note  of  him;  and  when  we  made  the  set- 
tlement, before  starting  home  at  night,  he  char- 
ged Harley  for  his  equal  share  of  the  dinner, 
supper,  and  wine,  and  handed  him  two  and  six- 
pence as  the  change  of  his  note.  He  looked 
daggers,  but  he  never  uttered  a  word  the  whole 
way  to  London. 

The  eldest  Miss  Tree,  a  most  amiable  wom- 
an, was  the  principal  dancer  of  the  theatre. 
She  had  been  married  to,  and  separated  from 
an  advertising  dancing-master  by  the  name  of 
Ctuin.  Harley  paid  Tier  great  attention,  and 
everybody  imagined  it  would  be  a  match. 
Some  one  was  praising  her  very  highly  for  her 
performance  of  Columbine,  in  the  Christmas 
pantomime: 

"  Yes,"  said  Tom  Cooke,  "  she's  very  clever 
as  Columbine,  and  I'm  told  shortly  she's  going 
to  be  Harley  Quin." 

But  she  never  was,  for  she  was  in  this  coun- 
try with  her  sister  Ellen,  and  still  Miss  Tree. 

In  society  Harley  was  agreeable  and  gentle- 
manly, could  sing  a  comic  song  extremely  well, 
and  tell  a  studied,  droll  story  with  effect,  but  I 
don't  believe  he  was  ever  known  to  say  a  witty 
thing  naturally,  or  perpetrate  a  joke  of  his  own 
in  his  life. 

During  ihis  season  I  played  as  an  apology  for 
Munden,  Knight,  Harley,  and  Oxberry,  in  con- 
sequence of  the  indisposition  of  one  or  the  other, 
at  very  short  notice,  and  frequently  with  their 
names  in  the  bill,  and  was  always  most  favour- 
ably received  by  the  audience;  as  I  made  it  a 
rule  all  my  life  to  be  at  the  theatre  every  morn- 
ing at  ten  o'clock,  whether  wanted  or  not,  and 
generally  in  the  green-room  at  night,  if  any  one 
was  sick  whose  place  I  could  supply,  I  was  the 
first  to  be  called  upon ;  as  it  placed  me  frequent- 
ly in  a  favourable  point  of  view  before  the  audi- 
ence, in  characters  in  which  I  was  prepared — 
and  even  if  I  had  never  seen  the  piece,  bavins; 
an  extraordinary  quick  study,  great  presence  of 
mind,  and  fart  to  get  through  anything — these 
sudden  calls  upon  ray  services  (particularly  as 


they  obliged  my  good  friend  the  manager)  were 
rather  pleasing  to  me  than  otherwise ;  and  they 
occurred  so  frequently,  that  it  became  a  joke  for 
the  actors,  and  when  I  entered  the  theatre,  at 
morning  or  night,  they'd  salute  me  with, 

"  Here  he  is!  Munden's  sick!"  or,  "Cowell, 
my  dear  fellow,  you  can  go  home ;  everybody's 
quite  well,"  as  the  case  might  be.  Even  Kem- 
ble  would  join  in  the  joke,  and  say,  in  his  fine, 
fat,  good-humoured  manner, 

"  Doctor  Cowell,  I'm  very  sorry  to  inform  you 
that  all  your  patients  are  in  fine  health  this 
morning." 

I  had  just  finished  playing  Cosey,  in  "Town 
and  Country,"  one  night,  when  a  message  came 
to  me  in  my  room  that  Harley,  while  pre- 
paring for  the  afterpiece,  had  been  seized  with 
an  epileptic  fit,  and  inquiring  if  I  would  under- 
take the  part  of  Goodman,  in  the  Barmicide; 
a  splendid  spectacle,  which  had  been  long  in 
preparation,  and  produced  for  the  first  time  the 
night  preceding.  It  was  a  very  long  character 
—  some  melo-dramatic  business,  interspersed 
with  two  concerted  pieces  of  music  and  a  song. 
1  undertook  to  get  through  if,  with  the  part  in  my 
hand;  the  only  advantage  I  had  was,  that  I  had 
seen  it  the  night  before,  for  there  was  no  time  to 
read  it — nothing  puts  an  audience  so  out  of  hu- 
mour as  delay.  An  apology,  slating  the  dilemma 
the  management  was  placed  in,  was  made,  and 
I  was  received  with  the  hearty  encouragement 
a  London  public  know  so  well  how  to  bestow. 
During  the  intervals  of  the  scenes,  I  got  so  far 
possession  of  the  part  that  I  referred  to  it  but 
seldom,  and  in  the  last  act  did  without  it  entirely. 
To  show  the  aptness  with  which  an  audience 
there  seizes  upon  and  applies  any  portion  of  the 
dialogue  which  serves  to  express  their  feeling, 
I'll  state  the  following  as  a  proof.  The  lovely 
Mrs.  Orger  had  to  say,  in  reference  to  some  aid 
I  had  atlbrded  to  the  virtuous  part  of  the  plot, 
"  I'm  sure  we  are  all  greatly  indebted  to  Good- 
man ;  I  don't  know  what  we  should  have  done 
without  his  assistance."  The  house  applauded 
to  the  echo  that  applauds  again;  and  at  nearly 
the  end  of  the  piece,  my  last  speech  was  to  the 
effect,  "  Giaffar  has  done  his  duty,  somebody  else 
has  done  his,  and  I  trust,  with  submission,  I 
have  done  mine."  And  the  curtain  fell  amid 
deafening  peals  of  applause.  The  management 
and  the  critics  gave  me  infinitely  more  credit 
for  the  undertaking  than  it  deserved,  and  I,  of 
course,  retained  the  character  during  the  run  of 
the  piece.  Harley's  illness  was  continuous, 
and  I  pledge  myself  /  iicver  once  prayed  for  my 
frioid's  recovery.  Actors  are  the  most  selfish 
people  in  the  world,  and  feel  for  one  another  on 
the  same  principle  as  the  midshipman's  favour- 
ite toast,  "A  long  and  bloody  war!"  explains 
their  sentiments.  His  death,  or  absence  from 
the  theatre,  would  have  greatly  aided  my  ad- 
vancement; but,  unfortunately  for  me,  and  for- 
tunately for  the  theatre,  about  this  time  Howard 
Payne's  tragedy  of  Brutus  made  a  prodigious 
hit,  and  was  played  nearly  the  whole  of  the  sea- 
son. 

The  theatre  was  so  entirely  prostrate  at  this 
epoch,  that  the  salaries  failed  in  being  paid,  and 
as  a  last  resource,  Payne's  play,  which  had  long 
lain  neglected,  was,  by  Stephen  Kemble's  good 
taste,  put  in  rehearsal,  and  Kean  -was  prevailed 
upon  to  study  the  part.  After  a  number  of  vexa- 
tious delays,  which  Payne  bore  with  exemplary 
patience,  walking  with  the  permission  of  a  "day 
rule"  to  the  theatre  (for  he  was  a  prisoner  for 


PASSED    AMONG    THE    PLAYERS. 


39 


debt  at  the  time  in  the  Fleet  or  Bench)  to  meet 
Kean  by  appointment,  and  then  find  him  not  to 
be  found,  or  not  fit  to  be  seen,  it  was  at  length 
produced  to  an  indillerent  house.  It  was  shock- 
ingly cast ;  Harry  Keinble,  whom  the  audience 
would  hardly  tolerate,  was  the  Tarquin ;  D.  Fish- 
er, who  had  good  sense  enough  since  to  turn 
dancing-master,  was  the  Titus ;  and  the  balance 
of  the  characters  «?tsupported  by  a  parcel  oi'  peo- 
ple that  it  would  be  annoying  even  to  mention 
their  names ;  the  fat,  vulgar,  housekeeper-look- 
ing Mrs.  Glover,  who  now  plays  a  line  of  busi- 
ness she  was  only  ever  fit  to  sustain,  was  the 
Tullia;  Water-gruel  Mrs.  W.  West  was  the 
other  woman,  and  the  pretty  Utile  dawdle,  Mrs. 
.Robinson,  the  Lucretia.  On  the  first  night,  a 
scene  between  her  and  Harry  Kemble  nearly 
ended  the  fate  of  the  play;  but  the  next,  Tar- 
quin smothered  her,  or  did  something  or  another 
to  her  immediately,  without  saying  a  word  about 
it,  much  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  audience. 
The  public  were  greatly  prejudiced  against  the 
establishment,  and  assisted,  no  doubt,  by  the 
emissaries  of  the  rival  theatre,  the  play,  on  its 
first  representation,  made  three  or  four  narrow 
escapes ;  greatly  to  my  annoyance,  for,  independ- 
ent of  my  interested  motives,  I  had  a  warm 
feeling  in  favour  of  the  author,  both  for  his  tal- 
ent and  amiable  deportment.  But  Kean  was 
the  Atlas  of  the  night,  and  took  the  whole  play 
on  his  shoulders;  his  assumed  folly  elicited  the 
first  general  approbation  from  the  house,  and  his 
speech  to  Titus  ending  with 

"  Tuck  up  thy  tunic,  train  those  curled  locks 
To  the  short  warrior-cut,  vault  on  thy  steed: 
Then  scouring  through  the  city,  call  to  arms  ! 
And  shout  for  liberty  !" 

caused  John  Bull  to  shout  too  with  all  his 
might:  in  fact, he  always  does  shout  when  liber- 
ty's mentioned,  whether  because  he  thinks  he's 
the  possessor  of  the  blessing,  or  "  wants  to,"  as 
the  Yankees  say,  I  know  not.  The  oration  over 
the  body  of  Lucretia  was  the  most  heart-thrill- 
ing, pathetic  appeal  to  the  passions  I  ever  heard : 
equal  in  solemn  beauty  to  his  manner  of  bid- 
ding farewell  to  the  attributes  of  war  in  Othello, 
which  never  was  spoken  by  any  actor  but  him- 
self as  Shakspeare  conceived  it.  At  this  time 
Le  Thiere's  large  painting  of  the  Judgment  of 
Brutus  was  exhibiting  at  the  Egyptian  Hall, 
Piccadilly,  and  being  the  work  of  a  Frenchman, 
everybody,  of  course,  went  to  see  it.  The  last 
scene  was  grouped  exactly  after  its  manner;  Le 
vivant  tableau  had  a  most  happy  effect,  and  the 
play,  to  my  great  delight,  after  all  its  struggles, 
was  announced  for  repetition  amid  universal 
approbation. 

In  defiance  of  its  almost  unprecedented  suc- 
cess with  the  public,  nearly  the  whole  newspa- 
per press  seized  their  dissecting-knives  to  cut 
up  it  and  its  author;  columns  were  filled  with 
extracts  from  obsolete  dramas,  which  Payne  had 
used  for  his  purpose  with  all  the  freedom  of  an 
old  acquaintance;  though  scarcely  one  actor  or 
playgoer  in  fifty  had  ever  heard  of,  or  read  them, 
with  the  exception  of  himself,  and  those  cross- 
examining  critics;  one  long  and  able  article,  1 
remember,  was  wittily  headed  :  "  The  labour  we 
delight  in  physics  Payne?1 

At  all  events,  he  deserved  higher  praise  thnn 
the  compiler  of  Shakspeare1  s  play  of  Richard  ike 
Third,  as  it  is  called,  for  out  of  far  inferior  ma- 
terials, he  placed  in  the  front  rank  of  public  opin- 
ion an  excellent  tragedy,  on  a  subject  four  or  five 
authors  of  celebrity  had  failed  to  make  dramatic ; 


revived  the  drooping  laurel  on  the  brow  of  Kean, 
and  with  his  overwhelming  assistance  saved 
Drury  Lane  Theatre  at  that  time  from  total  ruin. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"  Love's  very  pain  is  sweet ; 
But  its  reward  is  in  the  world  divine, 
"Which,  if  not  here,  it  builds  beyond  the  grave." 

Shelley. 

If  you  were  to  listen  to  and  believe  half  the 
gruntings  and  grumblings  of  the  peevish  atoms 
who  inhabit  this  "  wretched  world,"  as  they  call 
it,  you  might  be  led  to  imagine  they  were  most 
anxious  to  "shuffle  off  this  mortal  coil."  This 
goodly  frame,  the  earth,  is  described  by  them  as 
a  "  steril  promontory,"  "  a  foul  and  pestilent 
congregation  of  vapours  ;"  that  man  delights  not 
them — "no,  nor  woman  neither!"  as  Hamlet 
says  ;  and  they  try  to  persuade  you  and  them- 
selves that  any  change  must  be  for  the  better. 
And  yet  I  never  saw  one  of  these  "discontented 
papers"  who  didn't  use  "  the  little  left  of  strength 
remaining,"  in  struggling  with  the  grim  tyrant 
when  it  came  to  the  awful  pause.  Now  I  be- 
lieve that  there  are  quite  sufficient  delicious  lit- 
tle inventions  for  our  gratification  to  amply 
keep  pace  with  all  "  the  natural  shocks  that  flesh 
is  heir  to,"  and  among  them,  can  any  one  be 
more  delightful  than  the  unexpected  renewal  in 
manhood  of  a  sincere  boyish  friendship  1  This 
I  experienced  in  an  unushered  visit  from  George 
Maryon. 

He  had  been  a  midshipman  in  the  navy,  and 
at  the  close  of  the  war,  had  been  left  with  a  bul- 
let in  his  body  to  remind  him  of  his  youthful 
folly,  and  a  very  superior  education  for  his  fu- 
ture support ;  his  brother  was  an  artist  with  con- 
siderable talent,  and  together  they  had  establish- 
ed an  academy  for  young  gentlemen  at  East 
Lane,  Walworth.  My  dear  boy  Joe,  who  al- 
ways loved  everything  and  everybody  his  father 
admired,  took  a  great  fancy  to  my  sworn  friend, 
and  he  was  intrusted  to  his  care  as  a  pet  and 
"parlour  boarder."  Each  succeeding  Sunday 
they  paid  us  a  visit;  but  my  uncertain  engage- 
ments at  the  theatre  deprived  me,  for  some  weeks, 
of  the  power  of  absenting  myself  so  far  from  its 
purlieu.  But  the  death  of  dueen  Charlotte, 
causing  the  establishment  to  be  closed  till  she 
was  enclosed  in  the  vault  at  Windsor,  among 
her  poor  relations,  gave  me  an  unenviable  holy- 
day — "no  play,  no  pay" — and  on  a  fine  day  af- 
ter dinner,  I  set  off  to  walk  to  Walworth,  which 
I  understood  to  be  only  two  or  three  miles  dis- 
tant. All  my  life  I  have  suffered  great  incon- 
venience from  the  absence  of  the  faculty  of  re- 
membering names.  Once,  in  playing  Lazarillo, 
in  "  Two  Strings  to  your  Bow,"  I  insisted  that 
my  name  was  Pedrillo,  to  the  great  amusement 
of  the  actors.  Calling  at  the  stage  door  to  look 
for  letters,  I  inquired  of  West,  the  messenger 
of  the  house,  my  shortest  route  to  Wandsworth 
instead  of  Walworth. 

"  Why,  sir,"  said  this  experienced  directory, 
"it's  a  pretty  good  walk  to  Wandsworth — but 
it's  a  straight  line.  Your  best  way  will  be  to  go 
over  Westminster  Bridge ;  and  you'll  find  dozens 
of  coaches  will  set  you  down  there  for  a  shilling 
or  eighteen-pence." 

I  did  as  he  advised,  and,  soon  after  passing 
the  Marsh  Gate,  I  was  overtaken  by  a  long  four- 
horsed  stage,  with  ''Wandsworth"  named  on  its 
end,  as  its  place  of  destination.  I  hailed  the 
driver,  and  took  a  seat  by  his  side.    As  he  was 


40 


THIRTY   YEARS 


not  able  to  give  me  the  desired  information,  when 
we  reached  the  village  I  alighted  at  the  first  tav- 
ern, and  requested  to  be  directed  to  East  Lane, 
and  Mr.  Maryon's  academy. 

"  I  knows  of  no  Heast  Lane"  said  the  land- 
lady— I  suppose,  for  she  was  very  fat — "  but 
some   calls  this  Hcast  Bend,  I'm  sure  I  don't 

know  for  what ;  and  there's  Mr.  M ,  he's  a 

harchitect,  and  keeps  a  sort  of  a  'cademy.  He 
teaches  oome  young  men  to  draw  churches,  and 
build  'ouses,  and  such  like,  I  believe." 

"  That's  the  very  man,  madam,"  said  I.  I 
thought  of  his  brother,  the  artist,  and  the  name 
(which  I  purposely  suppress,  for  fear,  even  at 
this  distant  date,  of  creating  a  difficulty  between 
an  elderly  lady  and  gentleman,  if  they  are  still 
alive)  was  as  much  like  Mar-yon,  as'  Mar-von 
is,  as  she  pronounced  it.  According  to  her  di- 
rection, I  entered  a  small  garden,  and  rang  the 
bell  at  the  door  of  a  handsome  house,  standing 
back  from  the  road.  After  waiting  a  reasonable 
period,  I  repeated  the  summons  more  energeti- 
cally, and  in  a  few  seconds  I  heard  a  female 
voice  say,  pettishly,  "  That  boy  is  never  in  the 
"way;"  and  the  door  was  instantly  opened  by — 
Anna!  I  caught  her  in  my  arms — I  was  afraid 
of  her  falling,  and,  if  she  had,  she  would  have 
hit  her  head  against  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  for  the 
passage  was  not  more  than  eight  feet  long,  and 
she  was  standing  on  the  inner  edge  of  the  mat — 
a  little,  fat  man,  and  a  maid-servant,  made  their 
appearance  —  but  how  they  got  there,  Heaven 
only  knows ! — and,  with  their  assistance,  I  pla- 
ced her,  senseless,  on  the  sofa  in  the  parlour. 
After  the  lapse  of  a  few  minutes — passed  by  me 
in  a  delirium,  and  by  the  man  and  his  maids  in 
applying,  in  hurry  and  confusion,  the  usual  rem- 
edies, all  which  I  remembered  as  a  dream  after- 
ward, but  then  I  had  not  the  power  to  assist — 
she  opened  her  heavenly  eyes,  gazed,  with  a  va- 
cant stare,  around  the  apartment,  concealed  her 
face  with  her  hands,  and  burst  into  an  agony  of 
grief. 

"Anne,  my  dear,  Anne  !"— if  he  had  called 
her  Anna  I  believe  I  should  have  knocked  him 
down — "why,  Anne,  my  dear,"  said  the  little  fat 
man,  looking  up  at  her  as  she  was  leaning  back 
on  the  sofa,  with  "  the  heart's  blood  turned  to 
tears"  oozing  through  her  taper  fingers  over  her 
wedding-ring,  and  chasing  each  other,  like  dew- 
drops  tinted  with  rose-leaves,  down  her  snowy 
arm,  "what  is  all  this,  and  who  is  this  gentle- 
man 1" 

"  Wait  a  minute — don't  speak  to  me !"  sobbed 
poor  Anna;  "you  shall  know  all — indeed  you 
shall — I — I'll  tell  you  what  a  wretch  I  am — in — 
in  a  minute." 

The  little  fat  man  looked  at  me  for  informa- 
tion, but  I  was  so  stultified  with  horror  and  re- 
gret at  this  promised  confession,  which  would, 
in  all  probability,  involve  the  happiness  of  her  I 
had  so  purely  and  innocently  loved,  that  my  be- 
wildered thoughts  deprived  me  of  the  power  of 
words  to  arrest  the  "evil  communication;"  and 
I  stood  firmly,  with  the  same  apathetic,  indiffer- 
ent expression  of  face  and  manner,  so  often  seen 
in  some  poor  wretch,  listening  to  be  told  quietly, 
that  he  is  to  be  hanged  by  the  neck  until  he  is 
dead,  and  his  body  given  to  the  surgeons  for  dis- 
section— and  which  natural  display  of  intense 
suffering  is  always  placed  to  the  account  of  un- 
doubted courage  and  magnanimity  of  soul,  in 
Newgate  Calendar  criticism.  After  a  lengthen- 
ed pause,  she  suddenly  rose  up,  and,  with  hys- 
terical playfulness,  said  hurriedly, 


"The  surprise — the — no,  not  the  joy — the  as^ 
tonishment,  overcame  me  —  it's  —  my  cousin 
you've  heard  me  speak  of,"  and  again  sunk 
upon  the  sofa. 

"  Thank  Heaven !  I'm  her  cousin,  for  the  sake 
of  all  parties,"  thought  I. 

"Oh  yes;  why,  bless  me,  no  wonder!"  said 
the  little  fat  man.  "  Oh  dear,  yes,  I  remember. 
I'm  glad  to  see  you,  sir.  I  caught  Anne  one 
day  crying  over  your  picture ;  she  told  me  that 
it  was  her  cousin — why,  really,  no  wonder  you 
were  surprised,  my  dear — she  said,  I  think,  you 
were  shot,  or  drowned,  or  something.  I'm  glad 
to  see  you.  She's  got  your  picture  yet.  There, 
that's  it,  tied  to  the  black  riband.  Show  it  your 
cousin,  Anne — well,  never  mind,  by-and-by — I 
declare  it's  an  excellent  likeness !  a  little  too 
fresh-coloured,  perhaps — but,  then,  the  uniform 
makes  a  difference.  But  you  must  take  a  glass 
of  wine — Anne  will  get  over  it  presently — and 
I'll  send  for  the  children." 

And  away  the  nasty  little  fellow  went.  The 
only  balm  I  could  lay  to  my  tortured  feelings  at 
that  moment  was,  that  he  was  very  fat — and  I 
knew  Anna  could  not  bear  fat — and  that  he  was 
a  head  and  shoulders  shorter  than  myself.  But 
"the  children"  made  me  sick  at  my  stomach;  I 
felt  faint ;  and,  without  my  saying  a  word,  Anna 
answered  my  look, 

"Don't  despise  me.  What  could  I  do"?  You 
never  answered  my  letters.  Everybody  said  you 
were  dead,  or  had  married  some  one  else.  God 
help  me !  he  was  rich,  and  all  my  friends  per- 
suaded— " 

Me  she  would  have  said,  and  perhaps  a  great 
deal  more  I'm  glad  I  did  not  hear,  but  that  the 
door  opened,  and  in  came  the  father,  without 
doubt,  of  a  little  pot-bellied  brat,  the  image  of 
himself,  whom  he  was  leading  by  the  hand,  and 
followed  by  another  "like  the  first,"  crying,  and 
sliding  into  the  room,  with  a  dirty  nose. 

"  Take  the  baby  up,  Betsey,"  said  the  father. 

"  He  won't  let  me,  sir,"  said  the  maid. 

"Ah,  he's  a  spoiled  child;  but  here's  a  fine 
fellow," said  the  foolish-fond  parent;  "only  three 
years  and  a  half  old ;  shake  hands  with  the  gen- 
tleman, Joseph ;  come,  that's  a  good  boy — it's 
ma's  cousin,  my  dear,  that  you  were  named 
after." 

But,  thank  Heaven  !  my  namesake  wouldn't 
do  anything  of  the  sort. 

"  We  only  breeched  him  yesterday,"  said  the 
father,  his  eyes  half  out  of  his  head  with  delight. 

And  a  pretty  business  they  had  made  of  breech- 
ing the  little  beast.  A  nankin  jacket  and  trou- 
sers all  in  one  piece,  bedizened  with  mother  of 
pearl  buttons  all  over  the  top,  and  daubed  with 
gingerbread  over  the  bottom;  and  a  slit  in  the 
back,  wide  open,  to  let  the  little  ball  of  fat  in  or 
out,  I  suppose. 

"  Well,  I'm  heartily  glad  to  see  you — take  a 
glass  of  wine,"  said  the  good-natured  man, 
though  I  hated  the  sight  of  him.  "  Sir,  here's  to 
ye.  Oh  do,  my  dear,  take  a  little ;  it  will  do  you 
good — now  indeed  it  will ;  well,  if  you  won't,  you 
won't,  I  suppose.  Anne  has  fretted  a  good  deal 
about  you,  I  assure  you." 
I  took  my  hat. 

"  Oh,  you  mustn't  think  of  leaving  us  so  soon. 
Anne  will  be  quite  lively  presently,  now  you've 
got  back.  I've  often  heard  her  declare  she 
couldn't  die  happy  unless  she  either  saw  or  heard 
something  certain  about  you." 
I  moved  towards  the  door. 
"You  mustn't  think  of  going  to  town  to-night;,- 


PASSED    AMONG    THE    PLAYERS. 


41 


we  have  plenty  of  spare  beds,  and  you  must  tell 
us  how  you  escaped  getting  drowned,  or  shot,  or 
whatever  it  was." 

I  felt  that  victory  could  only  be  gained  by  an  im- 
mediate retreat;  pleaded  that  business  of  the  last 
consequence  demanded  my  presence  in  London 
that  night,  but  promised  to  return  early  on  the 
morrow,  and  pass  the  day  with  them ;  took  the 
privilege  of  an  affectionate  cousin  to  embrace 
his  wife — whispered  an  eternal  good-by — stumbled 
over  the  mat,  down  two  steps  at  the  street  door, 
and  departed. 

"  She  gazed  as  I  slowly  withdrew  : 
My  path  I  could  scarcely  discern. 
So  sweetly  she  bade  me  adieu, 
I  thought  that  she  bade  me  return." 

But  I  didn't,  and  have 

Never  seen  Anna  since. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

"  Say  what  abridgment  have  you  for  this  evening  1 
What  mask  1    What  music  1     How  shall  we  beguile 
The  lazy  time,  if  not  with  some  delight  V 

Shakspeare. 

Stephen  Kemble,  and  his  sister,  Mrs.  Sid- 
dons,  to  my  poor  thinking,  shared  between  them 
all  the  genius  of  that  wonderful  family.  Extra- 
ordinary natural  advantages,  highly-cultivated 
minds,  and  long  and  intense  study  of  the  me- 
chanical attributes  so  important  to  an  actor, 
rendered  both  John  and  Charles  Kemble  (but 
particularly  John)  for  years  "  the  observed  of 
all  observers  ;"  though  I,  in  defiance  of  general 
opinion,  always  considered  Charles  the  superior 
artist.  "An  two  men  ride  on  a  horse,  one  must 
ride  behind;"  and  when  John  Kemble  was  at  the 
very  zenith  of  his  glory,  with  no  shadow  within 
reach  of  his  shade,  his  brother,  with  a  better 
voice,  and  finer  face,  was  playing  walking  gen- 
tlemen in  the  same  theatre — Alonzo  to  his  Rolla, 
Lewson  to  his  Beverly,  Laertes  to  his  Hamlet, 
Cassio  to  his  Othello,  Prince  of  Wales  to  his 
Hotspur,  and  so  on.  How  would  it  have  been 
had  their  positions  been  changed]  And  even 
in  those  comparatively  subordinate  characters, 
Charles  gained  a  most  exalted  reputation,  and 
the  recollection  of  his  excellence  in  that  descrip- 
tion of  business  painfully  derogates  from  the 
merit  of  any  performer  in  that  walk  of  the  drama 
since.  After  the  retirement  of  the  "  great  Kem- 
ble," his  most  prejudiced  worshippers  were 
obliged  to  admit  that  Charles  was  his  equal  in 
most  characters,  and  even  honest  enough  to  al- 
low his  superiority  in  some,  and  in  a  certain 
grade  of  high  comedy  he  stood  alone — Mercutio 
and  Don  Felix,  for  instance ;  and  it  was  witting- 
ly said  of  his  brother  John,  when  he  attempted 
the  latter  part,  :'that  he  possessed  too  much  of 
the  Don,  and  not  enough  of  the  Felix." 

Stephen  Kemble's  extraordinary  bulk  depri- 
ved him  of  the  power  of  entering  the  arena  with 
his  gladiatorial  brother ;  but  his  Macbeth  and 
Hamlet,  by  the  adorers  of  mind,  not  body,  will 
never  be  forgotten;  and  his  readings  of  Milton 
and  the  Bible  were  superhuman.  In  his  latter 
days,  from  necessity,  not  choice,  he  only  per- 
formed Falstaff ;  but  even  in  that  resource,  for 
his  transcendent  talent,  he  stood  without  a  rival. 
Fawcett  delivered  the  wholesale  wit  of  Fal- 
staff in  small  parcels,  with  the  pungent  quaint- 
ness  of  Touchstone.  Bartley  would  make  you 
believe  the  knight  had  got  fat  behind  the  coun- 


ter, while  keeping  a  retail  shop  in  the  city.- 
Dowton  made  him  a  very  large-sized  Sir  An- 
thony Absolute.  Matthews  played  it  as  he  did 
Grunthrum,  in  "The  Fortunes  of  War,"  or  the 
very  whimsical  character  in  one  of  his  enter- 
tainments, who  inquires  of  everybody,  "  Am  I 
thinner,  think  ye  V  Warren  had  a  great  repu- 
tation in  the  part  in  this  country,  and  a  sign  for 
a  porter-house  was  painted  in  compliment  to  his 
performance,  in  Philadelphia;  but  he,  though  a 
very  sensible  actor,  portrayed  Sir  John  as  if  his 
favourite  beverage  was  beer,  not  sack.  Hackett 
and  John  CLuincy  Adams  have  paid  one  another 
some  high  compliments  lately  through  the  news- 
papers on  their  true  conception  of  the  character, 
which  I  think  is  highly  probable  to  be  the  case ; 
but  when  I  saw  Hackett  in  the  part,  some  years 
ago,  I  thought  it  was  a  very  excellent  imita- 
tion of  Matthews. 

Stephen  Kemble's  face  and  figure  were  a  guar- 
antee for  the  character  he  gave  himself:  "Sweet 
Jack  Falstaff,  kind  Jack  Falstaff,  true  Jack 
FalstafT;  valiant  Jack  Falstaff,  and,  therefore, 
more  valiant,  being,  as  he  is,  old  Jack  FalstafT;" 
and  alive  to  all  the  minute  beauties  of  the  au- 
thor, he  pointed  them  naturally,  without  force  or 
effort;  and  if  the  cavillers  to  excellence  deny 
that  the  performance  was  perfection,  they  must 
admit  that  it  put  all  competition  in  the  back- 
ground. In  private  life  he  was  a  good  man,  a 
ripe  scholar,  a  warm  friend,  and  a  delightful 
companion. 

During  this  season  the  principal  green-room 
was  conducted  with  all  the  etiquette  observed  in 
an  apartment  designed  for  the  same  purpose  in 
private  life,  and  very  properly  too.  A  well-ap- 
pointed room,  especially  when  ladies  are  part  of 
its  occupants,  has  great  influence  on  the  conduct 
of  its  visiters  in  all  classes  of  society,  from  the 
magnificent  drawing-room  down  to  the  splendid 
"gin  palace."  There  was  an  obsolete  forfeit  of 
one  guinea  for  any  one  entering  it  in  undress, 
unless,  of  course,  in  character.  This  being  per- 
fectly understood,  was  never  likely  to  be  incur- 
red. But  Alderman  Cox,  one  of  the  committee,  in 
defiance  of  this  well-known  rule,  dropped  in  one 
evening  in  a  riding-dress,  with  very  muddy 
boots  and  spurs.  Tullia's  train  getting  entan- 
gled in  one  of  them,  Oxberry  good-humouredly 
reminded  the  alderman  of  the  forfeit,  which  he 
appeared  to  take  (and  I  think  did)  in  high  dud- 
geon ;  but  the  next  day  a  note  was  addressed  to 
the  gentlemen  of  the  green-room,  begging  them, 
to  accept  a  dozen  of  very  fine  Madeira  in  lieu 
of  the  guinea  forfeit;  pleasantly  stating  that, 
"  as  he  was  a  very  bad  actor,  he  must  be  a  mem- 
ber of  the  second  green-room,  if  of  any,  and, 
therefore,  did  not  consider  himself  amenable  to 
the  laws  of  the  first."  To  meet  the  matter  in 
the  same  spirit,  with  this  wine,  and  other,  we 
agreed  to  give  the  alderman  a  dinner  at  the 
Freemasons'  Tavern,  and  a  non-playing  day  in 
Lent  was  selected.  Sir  Richard  Birnie  (the 
Bow-street  magistrate),  Mr.  Vaughen,  M.P.  (an 
esteemed  friend  of  Kemble's),  and  Fauntleroy 
(the  unfortunate),  were  invited  to  meet  him ; 
and  the  party  completed  by  Stephen  Kemble, 
his  son  Harry,  Carr,  Hughes,  Rae,  Gatlie,  Ox- 
berry,  Harley,  Kean,  Munden,  Henry  Johnston, 
Irish  Johnstone,  Russell,  and  myself.  Who 
would  not  like  to  be  one  of  such  a  parly  once  a 
week!  But  they  are  nearly  all  gone  now  to — 
"  not  where  they  eat,  but  where  tliey  are  eaten:  a 
certain  convocation  of  politic  worms  are  e'en  at 
them."    "Oh,  the  mad  days  that  I  have  spent! 


42 


THIRTY   YEARS 


and  to  see  how  many  of  my  old  acquaintance 
are  dead."  Kean  was  observed  to  refrain  from 
wine,  and  when  urged  by  his  jovial  companions 
to  "drink  and  fill,"  Alderman  Cox  said, 

"  In  my  official  capacity"  (he  sal  opposite  to 
Stephen  Kemble),  "  I  have  excused  Mr.  Kean. 
The  fact  is,  I  have  made  a  promise  for  him  that 
he  shall  spend  the  evening  with  my  wife,  and  if 
he  takes  too  much  wine,  I  don't  know  what  may 
be  the  consequences." 

The  alderman  laughed  like  an  accommoda- 
ting— alderman,  and  we  smiled  at  his  very  con- 
siderate philosophy.  Kean  withdrew  early  in 
the  evening,  and  the  good-natured  husband  re- 
mained with  Kemble  and  four  or  five  others, 
myself  among  the  number,  till  three  in  the  morn- 
ing. This  is  the  same  Alderman  Cox  who  was 
awarded  heavy  damages  in  a  court  of  justice 
against  Kean,  for  destroying  his  domestic  feli- 
city; and  this  is  the  very  Mrs.  Oox  whose  in- 
jured innocence  "  bellowed  forth  revenge"  across 
the  wide  Atlantic,  and  induced  the  good  people 
of  Boston  and  New- York,  in  very  purity  of  pur- 
pose, to  use  her  name  as  a  watchword  to  drive 
from  the  stage,  as  a  punishment  for  some  offence 
given  to  the  audience,  "  Shakspeare's  proud  rep- 
resentative." 

Though  not  a  member  of  the  institution,  I 
received  the  compliment  of  being  appointed  one 
of  the  stewards  at  the  annual  Theatrical  Fund 
Dinner,  at  which  the  Duke  of  York  presided, 
with  Kean  facing  him  as  master  and  treasurer; 
and  the  talent  of  that  great  actor  was  even  dis- 
played in  the  simple  matter  of  reading  over  the 
list  of  subscribers.  The  amount  given,  or  the 
name  of  a  popular  donor,  elicited,  generally, 
some  demonstration  of  approval,  according  to 
the  sum  or  character  of  the  party,  and  his  pecu- 
liar mode  of  announcing,  "  the  veteran  Michael 
Kelly,  ten  pounds,"  obtained  three  rounds  of  ap- 
plause. In  the  anteroom,  appropriated  to  re- 
ceive our  distinguished  guests,  I  met,  for  the 
first  time  in  London,  my  friend  W.J.  Dennison, 
Esq.,  M.  P.,  who  had  so  unexpectedly  assisted 
to  help  me  out  of  my  scrape  at  Scarborough. 
Shaking  me  heartily  by  the  hand,  and  pointing 
to  the  bit  of  blue  riband  at  my  buttonhole,  he, 
laughing,  said, 

"You  see,  Cowell,  I  told  you  how  it  would  be." 

Grimaldi,  the  celebrated  clown,  whom  I  had 
never  before  seen  without  a  red  half-moon  on 
each  cheek,  was  one  of  the  stewards,  and  I  don't 
know  why,  but  I  felt  astonished  at  finding  him  a 
very  agreeable,  gentlemanly-looking  man :  we 
formed  an  acquaintance  which  lasted  while  I 
remained  in  England. 

Tom  Dibdin,  the  author  and  celebrated  pun- 
ster, also  one  of  the  stewards,  arrived  very  late, 
on  a  very  miserable-looking  nag,  and  his  ap- 
pearance altogether  called  forth  some  remarks 
and  merriment  from  those  at  the  windows. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  he,  on  entering  the  room, 
"you  mustn't  judge  of  anything  by  its  looks; 
that's  the  pony  that  plays  the  marble  horse  in 
Giovanni  in  London,  and  can  get  as  much 
applause  as  any  of  you;  it's  the  celebrated 
Graphy." 

"Graphy  !  that's  a  strange  name  for  a  horse, 
Dibdin,"  said  some  one. 

"  Most  appropriate,  though,"  said  the  punster. 
"When  I  made  up  my  mind  to  buy  a  horse,  I 
said,  I'll  bi-o-graphy ;  when  I  mounted  him  I  was 
a  tojHhgraphy ;  when  I  want  him  to  canter,  I 
say,  ge-o-graphy  ;  and  when  I  wish  him  to 
stand  still,  and  he  won't,  I  say,  but  you  au-tu- 


graphy ;  and,  therefore,  I  think  Graphy  is  a  very 
proper  name." 

On  the  last  night  of  the  season,  for  the  benefit 
of  Old  Rodwell,  the  box-book  and  housekeeper, 
a  gentleman  was  to  make  his  first  appearance 
as  Sylvester  Daggerwood,  and  give  imitations 
of  celebrated  performers.  I  had  played  Frisk,  in 
My  Spouse  and  I.  on  the  same  evening,  and 
could,  therefore,  only  go  in  the  orchestra  to  see 
an  excellent  performance.  He  possessed  all  the 
ease  and  familiarity  of  an  old  favourite,  and  his 
mimicry  was  admirable.  This  was  no  other 
than  the  irresistibly  comic  actor,  and  emperor  of 
topers,  John  Reeve,  who  a  few  years  since  paid 
a  visit  to  this  country. 

The  theatre  closed  in  a  state  of  bankruptcy, 
and  was  advertised  for  rent  soon  afterward;  but 
I  had  been  prudent  enough  to  provide  an  expe- 
dient for  the  vacation,  at  any  rate.  Matthews 
had  been  most  successful  in  his  entertainment 
called  "  A  Trip  to  Paris,"  and  had  rendered  that 
description  of  performance  popular;  and  by  se- 
cretly robbing  him  of  all  his  jokes  and  songs, 
and  localizing  ihem  to  suit  my  hemisphere,  I 
compiled  an  excellent  three  hours'  olio,  called 
"  Cowell  Alone,"  or  a  "  Trip  to  London."  The 
use  of  all  the  theatres  in  the  Lincoln  circuit  I 
obtained  gratuitously,  and  my  success  was  enor- 
mous. I  played  two,  but  never  exceeded  three 
times,  in  each  town  to  crowded  houses;  wisely 
leaving  off  to  the  regret  of  my  friends,  with  the 
intention  of  returning.  I  merely  visited  the  the- 
atres belonging  to  my  old  circuit,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  Louth,  in  Lincolnshire,  thirty  miles 
from  Boston;  and  at  ihe  urgent  solicitation  of 
my  friend  Jackson,  the  printer  (whose  name  was 
nearly  always  found  at  the  foot  of  the  last  page 
of  schoolbooks  for  boys  of  my  age),  I  consented 
to  become  his  guest  lor  a  week,  and  "  show  my 
show"  in  the  town-hall,  the  use  of  which  was 
tendered  me,  through  his  influence,  by  the  author- 
ities. It  is  the  only  picturesque  spot  in  the 
country,  and  the  inhabitants  the  most  hospitable, 
jovial  set  of  fellows  (if  they  have  not  degener- 
ated) that  can  be  found  anywhere ;  here  1  gave 
three  entertainments,  and  had  some  difficulty  in 
getting  away  at  the  end  of  a  fortnight.  There 
was  a  sort  of  moving  festival  among  Jackson's- 
friends  while  I  was  there.  Smoking  was  great- 
ly used  as  an  abracadabra,  in  that  fever  and 
ague  country;  and  a  certain  set  had  a  room,  or 
"snuggery,"  as  they  called  it,  detached  from  their 
houses,  for  the  purpose  of  freely  enjoying  that  fu- 
migating propensity.  A  t  about  three  o'clock  one 
morning  I  was  assisting  Jackson  home,  in  broad 
daylight,  from  one  of  these  noctes  ambrosias,  but 
being  full  of  wine,  he  couldn't  find  his  way  there ; 
and  I,  being  a  stranger,  couldn't  conduct  him  in 
a  town  so  laid  out  that  every  house  is,  in  fact, 
in  the  country  ;  and,  after  a  number  of  efforts  to 
gain  the  right  path,  he  stopped  and  inquired  of  a 
country  boy, 

"  My  lad,  can  you  tell  me  where  John  Jack- 
son lives'?" 

"  Eh,"  says  the  boy,  "  why  you  be  John  Jack- 
son." 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  you  fool !"  said  my  un- 
steady friend :  "  I  know  I'm  John  Jackson,  but 
where  do  I  live  1" 

Elliston,  that  "diverting  vagabond"  and 
scourge  to  actors,  had  become  the  lessee  of  Dru- 
ry  Lane,  and  made  me  an  offer  of  four  pounds  a 
week  (it  was  said  he  made  Munden  an  offer  of 
eight) to  return,  with  great  inducements  as  to  bu- 
siness— which,  of  course,  I  declined. 


PASSED  AMONG  THE  PLAYERS. 


43 


I  had  got  as  far  as  the  beautiful  little  city  of 
Peterborough,  and  had  still  two  towns  untouched, 
when  I  received  a  letter  from  Mr.  Lee,  stating 
that  the  two  young  Rodwells,  in  conjunction 
with  Willis  Jones,  had  purchased  the  Sans  Pa- 
nel from  old  Scott,  and  intended  opening  it  with 
as  strong  a  company  as  they  could  get,  and  a  su- 
perior style  of  perlbrmance;  and  offering  me  an 
engagement  for  the  light  and  low  comedy,  and 
that  if  I  accepted,  to  come  immediately  to  town ; 
■which  I  did.  I  performed  that  night,  and  the 
next  I  was  in  London. 

Scott's  fame  for  manufacturing  ink,  pink  sau- 
cers, and  liquid-blue  dye,  was  coeval,  and  equal- 
ly notorious,  with  Day  and  Martin's  blacking. 
At  the  time  when  all  the  little  boys  and  girls  in 
London  wanted  to  be  Master  Bettys  and  Miss 
Mudies,  Miss  Scott  developed  strong  symp- 
toms of  this  dramatic  disease ;  and  though  her 
extraordinary  talent  was  undoubted  by  her  fa- 
ther and  her  friends,  it  was  delicately  hinted  that 
the  greedy  public  not  only  expected  intrinsic 
merit  (which  she  possessed)  for  their  money,  but 
also  that  it  must  be  hallowed  o'er  with  beauty  to 
secure  the  first  impression.  No  paragraph,  how- 
ever laudatory  in  its  imbodying,  would  ever  ex- 
cite curiosity,  the  grand  point  to  be  obtained,  un- 
less it  commenced  or  ended  with,  "  This  tran- 
scendent little  loveliness,  this  sylphlike  master- 
piece of  Nature  in  her  most  bounteous  mood, 
whose  cerulean  beauty  conjures  the  wandering 
stars,  and  makes  the  little  cherubim  close  their 
wings  with  envy,  to  think  they  are  not  so  fair, 
last  night  astonished  and  delighted  an  over- 
flowing house ;  among  the  distinguished  persons 
present,  we  observed  Lord  CasTfereagh  in  the 
stage-box,  and  Mrs.  Siddons  (as  she  thought,  out 
of  sight)  in  the  corner  of  the  orchestra,  with  tears 
in  torrents  bedewing  their  experienced  faces." 

Or,  to  bring  the  position  more  home  to  the 
feelings  of  old  Scott,  argued  his  worldly  adviser, 

"  How  could  you  expect  to  sell  your  true  blue, 
iinot  to  be  equalled,  and  to  imitate  this  is  forgen/, 
were  not  flourished  all  over  the  label  in  pink  arid 


green  1" 


Now  Miss  Scott,  in  addition  to  some  natural 
defects,  had  had  the  smallpox  and  rickets  unfa- 
vourably ;  but  as  genius  comes  in  all  disguises, 
she  really  had  talent  both  as  an  actress  and  a 
writer;  and  as  a  resource  for  the  world's  preju- 
dices, old  Scott  gutted  the  back  of  his  warehouse 
and  fitted  up  a  theatre,  where  his  daughter  might 
safely  indulge  her  predilection  for  the  stage. 
Here  for  two  or  three  years,  assisted  by  some 
young  people,  her  pupils,  she  dramatized  and 
acted  away  "to  a  subscription  party  of  her  own 
friends.  In  all  cities  there  are  certain  sides  of 
the  way  in  certain  streets  which  the  population, 
from  some  cause  or  other,  prefer  to  crowd,  and 
leave  the  opposite  comparatively  empty:  just  so 
it  is  with  the  location  I  speak  of;  the  best  in 
London  for  a  theatre,  hundreds  of  people  enter 
there  attracted  by  the  red  baize  doors  and  a  gal- 
axy of  gas,  who,  when  they  set  out  on  their  ram- 
ble, never  dreamed  of  visiting  an  establishment 
of  the  kind  at  all.  And  old  Scott  very  wisely 
obtained  a  license  for  a  minor  performance, 
chiefly  provided  by  his  clever  daughter ;  and 
thinking  of  her  alone,  called  it  the  "Sans  Pa- 
nel," opened  the  doors  to  the  chance  customers, 
and  made  a  fortune ;  and  this  was  the  very  place 
Rodwells  and  Jones  had  purchased. 

I  had  never  seen  the  interior  in  Scott's  time, 
but  its  origin  was  still  strongly  developed.  A 
wide  passage  under  the  first  floor  of  a  house, 


leaving  room  for  a  small  shop,  on  the  right,  in 
the  same  building,  led  you  to  the  entrances  of 
the  boxes  and  pit,  the  latter  being  placed  in  the 
back  cellar.  Though  comparatively  small,  it 
was  most  excellently  planned,  both  for  seeing 
and  hearing.  The  name  was  changed  to  the 
Adelphi ;  a  good  direction,  being  nearly  opposite 
to  the  street  leading  to  that  well-known  terrace 
on  the  Thames,  where  the  immortal  Garrick 
once  resided,  and  appropriate  in  reference  to  the 
brotherly  managers. 

The  whole  of  Scott's  engagements  had  been 
purchased,  with  the  property;  but  of  the  merits 
of  the  performers  there  was  no  means  of  judg- 
ing, for  they  were  put  far  in  the  back-ground  by 
the  new  company,  with  the  exceptions  of  Jones, 
the  singer — the  "  Braham  of  America,"  as  he 
was  foolishly  called  till  Braham  himself  came, 
in  his  old  age,  to  dispute  the  title — and  Gomer- 
sal,  who  had  been  Miss  Scott's  "  amiable  foot- 
pad" for  years,  and  he  grumbled  through  the 
heavy  business.  Our  party  consisted  of  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Chatterly,  who  had  both  been  great  favour- 
ites at  the  English  Opera-house — he  in  old  men, 
and  she  in  high  comedy  ladies ;  Mrs.  Alsop,  a 
daughter  of  Mrs.  Jordan's,  but  no  relation,  by 
blood,  to  William  the  Fourth.  She  had  been  at 
Drury  Lane,  and  was  highly  admired  in  romps 
and  chambermaids  ;  Mrs.  Waylet,  who  has  been 
a  great  favourite  in  London  ever  since,  played 
boys,  and  lively  singing  characters;  Mrs.  Ten- 
ant, long  favourably  known  at  the  nobility's 
concerts,  the  principal  singer  ;  Mr.  Watkins, 
who  was  in  this  country  some  years,  with  Bur- 
roughs added  to  it,  the  principal  serious  young 
man;  Wilkinson,  the  celebrated  Geoffrey  Muf- 
fincap — and  if  he  had  never  played  anything  else 
but  that  and  Dogberry,  he  would  have  been  con- 
sidered a  great  actor — was  the  low  comedian; 
John  Reeve — a  changeable  part,  and  two  other 
characters,  suited  to  his  style  then — and  myself, 
eccentric  light  comedy.  Beautiful  walking  la- 
dies, well-dressed  young  gentlemen,  and  dancers 
by  dozens. 

The  pieces  were  all  original,  and  written  ex- 
pressly to  fit  the  peculiar  talent  of  the  principal 
performers  ;  and  Wilkinson  and  myself,  both 
overpowering  favourites,  had  the  privilege  of 
producing  any  piece  that  we  thought  we  could 
make  successful.  The  elegant  little  Planche 
was  my  chosen  author;  but  apiece  was  acted  at 
the  Olympic,  called  "  Where  shall  I  Dine?"  in 
which  Wrench  had  a  part  called  Sponge,  to 
which  I  took  a  great  fancy,  and,  by  introducing 
an  appropriate  song,  which  I  was  always  re- 
quired to  repeat  twice,  I  had  the  advantage  of 
him — supported,  also,  by  our  superior  company 
— and  I  played  it  every  night,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  three  weeks,  during  the  remainder  of  the 
season,  and  for  six  in  succession,  twice  on  each 
evening.  Wrench  was  taken  sick,  and,  to  save 
the  run  of  the  piece  being  stopped  at  the  Olym- 
pic, and  show  the  magnanimity  of  the  rival  es- 
tablishment, after  performing  the  part  first  at  the 
Adelphi,  while  our  ballet  was  proceeding  1  drove 
to  the  other  house,  played  it  there,  and  returned 
in  time  to  dress,  and  act  my  character  in  'the 
farce. 

As  this  book  professes  to  be  exclusively  a  his- 
tory of  my  theatrical  life,  my  domestic  joys  and  . 
sorrows  should  remain  "untouched,  or  slightly 
handled  ;"  but,  in  common  justice,  and  to  show 
the  difference  in  the  hearts  of  men  I  am  bound  to 
describe,  I  must  in  this  instance  deviate  from 
my  allotted  path.   Mothers  and  fathers  who  read 


u 


THIRTY  YEARS 


this  page  will  readily  believe  I  considered  my 
attendance  on  the  deathbed  of  my  youngest  child 
— a  daughter,  nearly  five  years  old— paramount 
to  any  other  duty  upon  earth,  and  I  absented 
myself  from  the  theatre.  But  every  pay-day  the 
sum  supposed  to  be  due  to  me  was  enclosed, 
with  the  earnest  good  wishes  and  anxious  in- 
quiries of  Jones  and  Rod  wells — though  my  sal- 
ary was  a  large  one,  the  run  of  two  favourite 
pieces  suspended,  and  my  absence  from  the  the- 
atre highly  injurious  to  its  interests,  and  pain- 
fully inconvenient.  At  the  end  of  three  weeks, 
Maria  died;  and  setting  at  defiance  "all  forms, 
modes,  shows  of  grief,"  I  instantly  sent  my  de- 
sire to  be  announced,  and  played  the  same  even- 
ing. Even  at  this  distant  period  this  recital  is 
painful  to  me,  and,  for  some  years  after  its  oc- 
currence, I  dared  not  trust  myself  to  refer  to  it; 
but  Time,  who  smooths  the  wrinkled  brow  of 
care,  has  long  since  taught  me  to  thank  God,  in 
the  same  spirit  that  inspired  the  pretty  lines  of 
Coleridge,  that 

"  Ere  sin  could  blight  or  sorrow  fade, 
Death  came  with,  friendly  care, 
The  opening  bud  to  heaven  convey'd, 
And  bade  it  blossom  there." 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

"  If  thou  wert  honourable. 
Thou  wouldst  have  told  this  tale  for  virtue,  not 
For  such  an  end  thou  seek'st ;  as  base,  as  strange. 
Thou  wrong'st  a  gentleman,  who  is  as  far 
From  thy  report  as  thou  from  honour." 

Cymbeline. 

While  I  was  in  treaty  with  Jones  and  Rod- 
wells  for  an  increase  of  salary  for  the  next  sea- 
son, I  very  unexpectedly  received  a  note  from 
Elliston,  requesting  to  see  me.  I  found  him 
seated  in  his  room,  enveloped  in  a  morning- 
gown  ;  his  hair  thrust  up  from  his  forehead,  and 
standing  in  all  directions,  after  the  manner  of  a 
mad  poet;  a  pen  behind  his  ear,  and  another  in 
his  mouth,  and  before  him,  on  the  table,  a  quire 
or  two  of  scribbled  paper,  and  a  folio  edition  of 
Shakspeare,  open  at  King  Lear,  which  he  in- 
formed me  he  was  revising,  and  intended  to 
place  upon  the  stage  "  in  a  garb  'twas  never 
dressed  before."  In  his  bland  and  most  insinu- 
ating manner,  "  he  regretted,  with  all  his  heart 
and  soul,  that  such  enormous  talent  should  be 
wasted  at  a  petty  minor  theatre — the  Sans  Pariel." 

"  It's  called  the  Adelphi  now,"  said  I,  inter- 
rupting him.  "  I  know  it,  my  dear  sir,"  he  con- 
tinued :  "  these  young  men  have  called  it  the 
Adelphi ;  but  old  True-blue's  connexions,  and 
the  apprentice  boys,  who  constitute  the  audi- 
ence, will  see  them  d — d  before  they  call  it  any- 
thing but  the  Sands  Parill,  and  look  upon  an 
actor,  no  matter  what  talent  he  may  possess,  as 
a  Sands  Parill  player."  After  pointing  out  the 
degradation  attending  belonging  to  a  minor  thea- 
tre, though  he  had  conducted  one  for  years,  that 
"  best  of  cut-throats,"  who  had  "a  tongue  could 
wheedle  with  the  devil,"  induced  me  to  sign  an 
engagement  for  three  years,  at  the  same  salary 
I  was  receiving  at  the  Adelphi,  to  commence  the 
Monday  after  Passion-week.  The  description 
of  business  I  was  only  to  be  called  upon  to  sus- 
tain was  named  in  the  following  form:  "All 
such  parts  as  are  usually  played  by  Messrs. 
Munden,  Dowton,  Knight,  Oxberry.  and  Harley, 
or  other  performers  holding  the  same  grade  in 
the  profession."  This  unexpected  arrangement 
greatly  annoyed  my  friends  Jones  and  Rodwell, 


who  produced  the  articles  drawn  as  I  wished, 
and  only  wanting  signatures,  and  all  parties  re- 
gretted the  hasty  proceeding.  But  they  prophe- 
sied, from  Elliston 's  dishonourable  reputation, 
that  he  would  be  sure  to  break  the  engagement, 
and  if  he  did,  I  promised  to  return  to  them. 
Among  many  verbal  inducements  held  out  to 
me  by  Elliston  (whose  powers  of  persuasion 
amounted  to  fascination),  he  suggested  that  I 
might  always  command  a  few  days,  or  a  week, 
to  take  a  trip  with  my  entertainment,  and  so  in- 
crease my  salary,  and  relieve  the  treasury. 
"As,"  to  use  his  own  words,  "  I  shall  not  bring 
you  out  till  Harley  goes  to  the  Lyceum,  which 
doesn't  open  till  June,  and  then  I'll  place  you  so 
carefully  before  the  public,  that  that  prince  of 
impostors  will  never  want  to  come  back  again." 
It  so  happened  that  Crisp,  the  manager  of  the 
Worcester  circuit,  made  me  an  offer  to  go  to 
Chester  for  three  nights,  in  the  race  week,  com- 
mencing on  Easter  Monday,  for  which  he  of- 
fered me  twenty  pounds,  and  to  pay  all  my  ex- 
penses there  and  back.  Fully  relying  on  my 
services  not  being  required  at  Drury  Lane,  I  ac- 
cepted the  proposal,  and,  as  a  mere  matter  of 
form,  mentioned  the  arrangement  I  had  entered 
into  to  Elliston. 

"  You  can't  go,  sir,"  said  the  barefaced  cajoler. 

"Why,  sir,"  1  replied,  "you  yourself  pointed 
out  the  advantage  to  the  treasury  my  occupy- 
ing as  much  of  my  time  elsewhere  as  possible 
would  be  between  this  and  June." 

"  Why,  so  I  did,"  said  he  :  "  that's  all  true 
enough ;  but  if  you  refer  to  your  articles,  you 
will  find  that  permission  for  your  absence  must 
be  first  had  and  obtained  in  writing,  and  I  don't 
think  proper  to  write;  for,"  continued  he,  in  a 
very  important  tone,  "  I  find  the  interests  of  the 
theatre  demand  that  I  should  immediately  bring 
you  before  the  public,  and  I  intend  to  produce 
'  Blue  Devils'  on  Thursday  next,  with  a.  powerful 
cast,  and  you  must  make  your  first  essay  this 
season  in  the  part  of  James!" 

The  man's  style  was  so  bombastically  comic, 
that  to  be  angry,  or  even  refrain  from  laughing, 
was  impossible;  but  I  never  asked  for  leave  of 
absence  afterward.  Though  I  generally  played 
excellent  business — for,  for  the  sake  of  annoy- 
ing Munden,  Harley,  and  others,  he'd  frequent- 
ly cast  me  into  parts  they  had  a  better  claim  to — 
I  still  had  my  share  of  disagreeables,  though  al- 
ways carefully  kept  within  the  letter  of  the  law ; 
for,  secure  in  my  engagement  at  the  Adelphi, 
which  was  purposely  kept  open,  I  was  rather 
desirous  than  otherwise  that  he  should  "  tear  the 
bond."  At  length  he  cast  me  for  Aruns,  in 
Payne's  play  of  Brutus,  and  I  remonstrated. 

"  Sir,  this  part  of  Aruns  must  surely  have 
been  sent  to  me  by  mistake,"  said  I;  "it  was 
originally  played  by  Mr.  Yarnold,  or  some  sec- 
ondary young  man,  without  any  pretensions  to 
comedy." 

"  That,  my  dear  sir,"  said  he,  in  his  soft,  sooth- 
ing manner,  "was  a  great  oversight  in  the  man- 
agement: its  being  given  to  the  serious  young 
man  you  speak  of  was  a  great  injury  to  the 
play,  which  is  a  very  dull,  tedious  affair,  at  any 
rate,  and  this  little  bit  of  delicious  comedy  will 
be  a  great  relief  to  its  monotony." 

"  Comedy,  sir  !"  said  I :  "  my  dear  sir,  read  the 
part;  there  is  not  a  comic  line  in  it." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  he,  calmly,  "  I  know  it ;  the 
author  has  left  the  character  entirely  to  the  actor, 
as  he  has  every  part  of  the  play  ;  who  could  tell 
what  Brutus  was  meant  to  be,  if  Kean  didn't. 


PASSED    AMONG    THE    PLAYERS. 


45 


act  it!  This  part  is  intended  as  a  comic  relief, 
such  as  Shakspeare  desired  Oswald  to  be  in 
King  Lear;  only  this  is  infinitely  more  capable 
of  effect,  and  in  your  hands  'twill  be  irresist- 
ible." 

Thus  assured  as  to  its  comic  capabilities,  for 
the  sake  of  the  mischief,  I  learned  the  few  lines. 
On  the  night,  I  dressed  myself,  with  the  assist- 
ance of  the  wardrobe-keeper,  who  entered  into 
the  joke  in  the  most  outre  manner  possible,  and 
kept  out  of  sight  till  the  very  moment  I  was 
■wanted.  Kean  not  being  at  rehearsal,  was  un- 
prepared to  meet  a  comedian  in  the  character, 
and  when  I  ran  down  the  stage,  after  the  man- 
ner of  Crack  or  Darby,  in  the  burlesque  dress,  he 
burst  into  an  uncontrollable  laugh,  in  which  the 
audience  heartily  joined,  and  after  gabbling  over 
the  few  lines,  to  which  Kean  couldn't  reply,  I 
made  a  comic  exit  at  the  opposite  prompt  side, 
amid  yells,  shouts,  hisses,  and  applause,  and  the 
first  person  I  met  was  Elliston. 

"  You  can  take  off  your  warrior's  dress,  sir," 
said  he,  with  a  half  laugh,  for  he  was  as  fond  of 
mischief  as  I  was ;  "  we'll  not  trouble  you  any 
farther;  Mr.  Russell  will  finish  the  part." 

"  You  know  you  told  me  to  make  it  as  funny 
as  I  could,"  said  I. 

"Yes,  that's  very  true,"  he  replied,  "but  I 
didn't  expect  you  to  make  it  so  d — funny.'" 

And  Russell  retained  the  part  for  the  remain- 
der of  the  season. 

A  burletta,  called  Giovanni  in  London,  founded 
on  the  pantomime  of  Don  Juan,  had  been  drama- 
tized in  rhyme  by  Moncrief,  and  produced  by 
Elliston  some  time  belbre,  when  he  had  the 
Olympic,  with  great  success  ;  and  to  the  great 
astonishment  of  the  old  school,  this  illegitimate 
manager  had  it  rendered  into  prose,  and  some 
additions  made  to  it,  for  Drury  Lane ;  engaging 
the  fascinating,  and  much- wronged  Madame  Ves- 
tris,  to  represent  the  gay  seducer.  And  the 
number  of  hard  male  hearts  she  caused  to  ache, 
during  her  charming  performance  of  the  charac- 
ter, I  am  satisfied,  would  far  exceed  all  the  fe- 
male tender  ones  Byron  boasts  that  Juan  caused 
to  break  during  the  whole  of  his  career.  Har- 
ley  was  cast  Leporello,  and  I  was  desired  to  un- 
derstudy it,  and  left  out  of  the  piece ;  but  at  the 
first  rehearsal,  Oxberry  and  Knight  both  refused 
the  parts  allotted  them,  and  Oxberry's  was  given 
to  me  —  "Mr.  Porus,  a  coachmaker,"  without 
one  redeeming  line,  and  on  the  stage,  with  little 
to  do  all  through  the  piece.  I  remonstrated,  but 
was  answered  that  it  was  according  to  the  spirit 
of  my  engagement;  that  it  was  Mr.  Oxberry's 
part,  or  such  as  he  ought  to  play,  and  that,  for 
his  refusal,  he  had  been  forfeited;  and  that,  if  I 
declined  the  character,  my  n  ight's  salary  should  be 
stopped  during  the  run  of  the  piece,  though  the 
fulfilment  of  my  articles  would  still  be  claimed. 
For  an  ambitious  actor  to  have  to  play  an  objec- 
tionable part  for  one  night  is  bad  enough,  but  he 
can  grumble  through  it,  and  forget  the  annoy- 
ance in  the  morning ;  but  every  night  in  the 
week,  for  months,  to  be  so  afflicted,  is  putting 
patience  to  a  severe  penance.  Every  scheme  I 
could  invent  to  distress  the  performers,  so  that 
I  might  be  taken  out  of  the  piece,  failed ;  in  fact, 
rather  rooted  me  more  firmly  in  my  disagreeable 
position.  Madame  Vestris  had  to  sing  a  very 
long  song,  to  the  tune  of  "  Scots  wha'  ha'  wi' 
Wallace  bled  !"  which  was  always  encored,  and 
to  which  I  had  to  stand  quietly,  by  right,  and 
listen;  but  I  made  up  my  mind  I  would  get 
clear  from  that  nuisance,  by  "cutting  mugs"  at 


the  musicians,  and  making  the  people  in  the 
front  of  the  pit  giggle  all  through  the  song;  but, 
to  my  horror  and  disappointment,  when  we  came 
off,  the  dear  kind  sou),  instead  of  being  angry,  as 
I  wished  and  expected,  said  she  thought  "  it  was 
extremely  comical,  and  begged  I'd  do  it  every 
night."     Harley  was  the  only  one  I  succeeded 
in  annoying;  I  could  give  an  excellent  imitation 
of  him,  and  by  speaking  outside,  and  going 
down  the  stage  after  his  manner,  I  got  the  recep- 
tion intended  for  Leporello,  and  when  he  came 
on,  the  audience,  for  tear  of  being  again  taken  in, 
took  no  notice  of  him  at  all.     The  first  night  I 
even  deceived  his  mother  and  sister,  and  got  the 
first  and  last  approbation  I  ever  received  from 
them,  I'm  quite  certain.     After  about  five  weeks 
of  this  never-likely-to-end  vexation,  I  consulted 
my  friend  Rodwell,  and  we  agreed  to  have  two 
guineas  worth  of  Chitty's  opinion,  the  celebrated 
Chamber  counsel,  and  he  gave  it  decidedly  as 
his    conviction  that  the   article  was  rendered 
void;    and  relying  on  this   authority,   Rodwell 
bound  himself  to  keep  me  harmless,  and  I  signed 
and  sealed  for   the   Adelphi,  on  my  proposed 
terms,  for  three  years.     Rodwell  retained  Adol- 
phus  as  counsel  in  the  event  of  an  action,  and 
Elliston  was  apprized  of  my  leaving  the  theatre 
according  to  law ;  and  after  some  preliminary 
forms,  meaning  nothing,  I  suppose,  the  affair 
was  dropped. 

Elliston  was  a  magnificent  actor  and  delight- 
ful companion,  but  a  most  unprincipled  man: 
his  "  Liar"  could  only  be  equalled  by  his  "  poeti- 
cal prose"  off  the  stage.  When  manager  of  the 
Olympic,  an  actor  by  the  name  of  Carles,  who 
was  an  overpowering  favourite  with  the  audi- 
ence, had  been  discharged,  in  consequence  of 
intemperance,  and,  of  course,  he  stated  to  his 
friends  that  he  had  been  shamefully  ill  used. 
The  frequenters  of  the  Olympic,  in  Elliston's 
time,  were  a  very  different  class  of  persons  to 
the  elegant  audience  Madame  Vestris,  in  after 
years,  attracted  there;  and  they,  with  fellow  feel- 
ing, sympathized  with  his  supposed  injuries ; 
for  though  he  told  the  truth,  all  his  offence  was 
"  only  taking  a  drop  too  much  ;"  and  a  most  pow- 
erful party  was  arrayed,  one  evening,  to  demand 
his  reinstatement,  and  Carles  took  a  seat  in  the 
pit  to  await  the  joyful  result.  When  Elliston 
appeared,  he  was  greeted  with  one  universal 
shout  of  "Carles!  Carles  !  engage  Carles  !  let's 
have  Carles !  Carles !  Carles !  Carles,  or  no  play ! 
Carles!  Carles!"  When,  with  his  hand  on  the 
spot  the  uninformed  in  anatomy  imagine  the 
dwelling-place  of  the  heart,  and  a  face  express- 
ing veneration  and  submission,  which  he  pos- 
sessed such  unequalled  power  to  portray,  he, 
in  action,  entreated  silence,  and  with  all  the  un- 
hesitating bluntness  of  truth,  he  burst  forth  with 
pathetic  energy, 

"  My  best,  my  warm  friends !  this  ebullition 
of  feeling  in  behalf  of  one  you  suppose  to  have 
been  wronged  shows  the  nobleness  of  your  na- 
ture, and  I  adore  you  for  it :"  intense  silence. 
"  The  man  who  would  hesitate  to  stretch  forth 
his  utmost  might  to  rescue  from  the  bitter  fangs 
of  oppression  the  object  of  tyranny  and  persecu- 
tion, is  unworthy  to  enjoy  the  blessings  of  that 
liberty  for  which  our  forefathers  fought  and 
bled!"  loud  applause,  and  one  little  "huzza" 
from  an  apprent ice-boy,  nearly  out  of  his  time, 
in  the  pit.  "Iloved that  man,"  pointing  to  Carles: 
"  oh !  how  I  loved  him ;  I  idolized  his  tran- 
scendent talent,  and  took  him  to  my  heart  like  a 
brother:"  here  he  produced  a  white  handker- 


46 


THIRTY    YEARS 


chief,  and  several  gentlemen  were  heard  to  blow 
their  noses  in  the  gallery.  "  To  my  poor  think- 
ing, he  appeared  the  moving  picture  of  all  that 
could  adorn  humanity ;  he  would,  to  be  sure, 
get  a  little  tipsy  sometimes:"  here  there  was  a 
slight  murmur  among  the  audience;  "but  I  al- 
ways looked  upon  it  as  an  amiable  weakness — 
we  all  get  tipsy  sometimes — I  do :"  here  there 
was  an  acknowledgment  of  the  fact  in  the  shape 
of  a  Utile  laugh.  "  But  for  the  last  week" — here 
he  looked  directly  at  Carles — "he  has  been  in  a 
continual  state  of  intoxication,  and  has  never 
been  near  the  theatre."  Carles  rose  from  his 
seat.  "  Down  in  front '!  hat's  off!  down  in  front .'" 
was  declared  in  a  voice  as  double  as  the  duke's, 
and  Carles  sat  down,  and  Elliston  continued,  with 
a  thick  voice  and  hurried  manner:  "And  on 
going  to  his  lodging  this  morning,  to  coax  him 
to  return,  which  I  have  often  done  before,  judge 
of  my  horror  and  astonishment  when  I  found 
his  wife  and  children  starving  for  the  want  of 
the  common  necessaries  of  life  :"  here  some 
one  in  the  gallery  was  imprudent  enough  to 
shout  out,  "  Carles  hasn't  got  no  wife !"  but  a  uni- 
versal cry  of  " Pitch  him  over!"  prevented  any 
farther  remarks  from  that  gentleman,  and  Ellis- 
ton  proceeded  :  "  His  lawfully  wedded  wife,  the 
most  lovely,  thin  young  creature  I  ever  be- 
held, whom  this  villain" — pointing  at  Carles  in 
the  pit — "had  torn  from  her  fond,  gray-haired 
father's  arms,  to  bring  to  misery,  and  leave  her 
to  perish  for  want:  the  infant  at  her  breast 
screaming  for  the  nourishment  the  starving 
mother  couldn't  give;  the  little  ones,  four  lovely 
boys,  clasping  my  knees  and  shrieking  for 
bread ;  and  in  the  corner  of  the  room  lay  his  in- 
fant daughter,  the  most  lovely,  angel  form  I  ever 
beheld,  a  frightful,  distorted  corpse,  too  horrible 
to  look  upon,  who,  the  day  before,  had  died  for 
want  of  food."  Here  there  was  a  general  mur- 
mur round  the  house,  but  Elliston  interrupted 
its  explosion  by  continuing,  "I  instantly  sent 
for  food  for  the  little  ones,  and  with  the  sum  this 
villain,"  looking  at  Carles,  and  blubbering, 
"could  easily  have  earned,  I  provided  a  coffin 
for  the  little  cherub,  and  only  half  an  hour  ago 
I  returned  from  the  funeral.  Now,  I  appeal  to 
you  as  men,  as  husbands,  and  as  fathers,  should 
I  engage  this  inhuman  monster  1"  pointing  at 
Carles.  "  If  you  say  so,  he  shall  instantly  be  re- 
instated." 

"No,  no!"  Carles  got  up  to  speak.  "Knock 
him  over!  out  with  him!  pitch  him  out !"  and 
a  hundred  such  expressions,  issued  forth  in  one 
enormous  torrent,  and  poor  Carles,  who  never 
had  a.  wife  in  his  life,  nor  a  child,  to  tlie  best  of  hit 
knowledge, escaped,  by  miracle,  from  the  infuria- 
ted multitude,  into  the  street,  and  Elliston  got 
peal  on  peal  of  applause,  and  the  performance 
proceeded. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

"  Oh,  jracious  God  !  how  far  have  we 
Profaned  thy  heavenly  Rift  of  poesy  ? 
Made  prostitute  ami  profligate  the  muse, 
Debased  to  cacli  obscene  and  impious  use  : 
Whose  harmony  was  first  ordained  above. 
For  tongues  of  angels,  and  for  hymns  of  love  ? 
Oh,  wretched  me  !  why  were  we  hurried  down 
Tiiis  lubrique  and  adult'rate 
(Nay,  added  fat  pollution  of  our  own), 
T'  increase  the  streaming  ordures  of  the  stage  !" 

Dryden. 

When  Stephen  Kemble  took  the  government 
of  Drury  Lane  Theatre,  his  ambition  led  him  to 


believe  that  he  could  replace  the  drama  on  that 
proud  and  purely  classic  pedestal  from  which 
the  rude  hand  of  ignorance  had  hurled  it  head- 
long; and  his  refined  taste  gave  him  the  intel- 
lectual power  for  the  Augean  labour,  but  the 
kindness  of  his  nature  deprived  him  of  the 
strength  of  heart  necessary  to  begin  the  task : 
dozens  of  actors  and  actresses  he  had  remem- 
bered when  a  boy,  grown  gray  in  the  theatre,  and 
passed  the  day  of  pleasing,  he  humanely  retain- 
ed to  choke  the  outlet  of  a  limited  treasury,  and 
thereby  fettering  the  means  which  should  have 
been  applied  to  furnish  material  for  a  market  al- 
ways requiring  a  quick  return.  His  very  name, 
too,  contradictory  as  it  may  appear  at  the  first 
glance,  was  an  impediment  to  popularity.  The 
exalted  station  his  brother  John  and  Mrs.  Sid- 
dons  had  achieved,  rendered  them  unapproacha- 
ble to  the  multitude;  this  was  a  heinous  fault. 
The  mob  must  ever  have  their  idol,  whether 
in  religion,  politics,  or  the  drama,  upon  familiar 
terms ;  the  privilege  of  calling  them,  behind  their 
backs,  "  Old  Sail  Siddons,"  and  "  Black  Jack," 
was  not  sufficient ;  they  must  ineet  them  at  the 
Harp,  or  Finche's,  or  the  Coal-hole,  ay  they 
could  "Charley  Incledon,"  or  "Neddy  Kean," 
or  they  were  not  content ;  they  therefore  looked 
up  to  their  splendid  talent  with  awe  for  its  sublim- 
ity, with  wonder  at  its  attainment,  and  with  envy 
at  the  feeling  distance  at  which,  by  comparison, 
it  placed  themselves;  and,  in  consequence,  the  vul- 
gar public  worshipped  and  hated  them.  Though 
past  the  reach  of  prostration  from  their  "  high 
estate,"  every  trifle  was  seized  upon  with  avid- 
ity for  the  purpose  of  annoyance.  Kemble,  in 
Prospero,  alive  to  Shakspeare's  meaning,  that 
the  smooth  current  of  the  language  should  flow 
with  no  grammatic  bar  to  ruffle  its  enchanted 
calmness,  changed  the  harsh  plural  of  the  "ear- 
piercing"  ache,  and  filled  the  measure  of  the  line 
with  pure  poetic  propriety.  The  scribblers  by 
rule  seized  upon  this  piece  of  pedantry,  as  they 
called  it,  to  cavil  at,  and,  ridiculous  to  relate, 
every  night  a  portion  of  the  audience,  too  igno- 
rant to  know  the  patois  of  St.  Giles's  was  not  their 
mother  tongue,  whooped,  yelled,  and  shouted  at 
the  justly  "  lengthened  line."  With  such  a 
prejudice  existing  against  these  two  ornaments 
of  the  profession,  no  wonder  the  scions  of  the 
race  were  doomed  without  mercy  to  "expire  be- 
fore the  flower  in  their  caps  ;"  and,  instigated  by 
this  feeling,  poor  Henry  Siddons,  with  every  ad- 
vantage of  mind  and  education,  was  written  off 
the  London  stage  lor  no  offence  but  his  name ; 
and,  sad  to  tell,  his  disappointed  ambition  helped 
to  dig  his  early  grave.  His  amiable  wife,  too, 
an  overwhelming  favourite  as  Miss  Murray, 
suffered  from  the  same  cause,  and  the  metropo- 
lis of  England  lost  the  adornment  of  talent  infi- 
nitely superior  to  the  overrated  Miss  O'Neil's. 

Stephen  Kemble,  playing  only  one  part,  al- 
ways appeared  as  a  stranger  to  the  audience, 
who  valued  him  merely  as  the  "gross  fat  man" 
who  could  play  nothing  but  Falstaff,  and  his  sou 
Harry  was,  unfortunately,  too  nearly  fair  game 
to  easily  escape.  The  committee,  too,  had  five 
opinions  in  every  proposed  amendment,  and,  of 
course,  made  bad  worse,  though  I  must  do  them 
the  credit  to  say  that,  thanks  to  them,  there  were 
more  pretty  women  in  the  first  and  second  green- 
rooms than  any  one  manager  was  ever  able  to 
collect  together  again  in  my  time  ;  among  them, 
the  beautiful  Mrs.  Mardyn,  who  a  short  time 
before,  in  the  Plymouth  theatre,  was  considered 
incapable  of  delivering  a  message  j  but  at  Drury 


PASSED   AMONG   THE    PLAYERS. 


47 


Lane  she  played  four  or  five  principal  charac- 
ters during  the  season,  to  empty  benches,  and  'twas 
said  (and  I  believe,  for  I  know  the  cost  of  such 
material)  received  thirty  pounds  per  week !  No 
wonder  the  theatre  went  to  ruin,  and  my  esteem- 
ed friend,  Stephen  Kemble,  retired  in  disgust  to 
his  pretty  cottage  at  Durham. 

Elliston  took  the  reins  under  very  different 
auspices.  He  was  the  lessee,  and  literally  un- 
controlled, and  a  long  and  distinguished  favour- 
ite with  the  public ;  his  nature,  too,  admirably 
fitting  him  not  to  allow  old  friendships,  human- 
ity, or  kindness  of  heart  to  interfere  with  his  in- 
terests. His  theatre,  to  use  his  own  expression, 
was  not  "intended  as  an  hospital  for  invalids ;" 
all  the  old  servants  of  the  public  were,  therefore, 
discharged,  or  those  only  retained  on  salaries 
graded  to  the  extreme  of  what  their  abject  neces- 
sities obliged  them  to  accept.  For  years  the 
manager  of  the  Surrey  and  Olympic,  he  brought 
•with  him  the  experience  purchased  in  that 
school  to  add  to  his  admitted  knowledge  of  the 
legitimate  drama,  and  followed  by  crowds  of 
the  utile,  who,  for  the  honour  of  belonging  to 
Drury  Lane,,  would  act  for  little  salary,  or  none 
at  all;  always  ready,  and  possessed,  in  an  une- 
qualled degree,  of  the  fascinating  power  of  per- 
suading the  public  to  anything  he  wished,  he 
took  the  direction  of  the  theatre  with  the  best 
possible  chance  of  success — for  a  time,  at  any 
rate.  His  right-hand  man  was  Winston,  long 
associated  as  the  drudging  partner  with  Cole- 
man and  Morris,  at  the  Haymarket.  He  had 
been  disappointed  in  his  hopes  of  becoming  an 
actor  himself,  and,  with  the  same  acrimony  of 
feeling  an  elderly  virgin  hates  a  blooming  bride, 
he  detested  the  professors  of  an  art  he  hadn't 
warmth  of  soul  enough  to  advance  in.  It  was 
his  province  to  measure  out  the  canvass  and 
colours  for  the  painters,  count  the  nails  for  the 
carpenters,  pick  up  the  tin-tacks  and  bits  of  can- 
dle, calculate  on  the  least  possible  quantity  of 
soap  required  for  each  dressing-room,  and  in- 
vent and  report  delinquencies  that  could  in  any 
way  be  construed  into  the  liability  of  a  forfeit ; 
of  course,  his  prey  was  "  such  small  deer"  that 
the  gentlemen  of  the  theatre  wouldn't  even  con- 
descend to  spit  upon  him;  but  Smart,  the  lead- 
er, who,  in  the  legitimate  sense  of  the  word,  de- 
served that  title,  literally  did  void  his  rheum  upon 
his  face,  one  night,  before  the  company,  which 
the  dastard  wiped  off,  and,  "with  'bated  breath 
and  whispering  humbleness,"  sued  for  pardon  for 
some  dirty  act.  In  the  course  of  my  experience 
I  have  noted  many  such  "  valuable  creatures," 
as  they  are  always  called  till  they  are  found  out, 
pinned  to  the  fortunes  of  a  manager;  and  gen- 
erally they  get  rich,  and  their  employer  gets 
poor,  and,  in  his  tattered  authority,  exclaims, 
"  How  strange  it  is  that  I  should  have  been  so 
deceived  in  that  man !" 

King  Lear,  as  threatened,  was  produced  after 
loud  proclaim  of  preparation,  and  the  tragedy 
published  as  revised  by  the  manager,  and  the 
poor  "  nice-fruil-and-a-book-of-the-play"  women 
■were  obliged,  on  pain  of  dismissal,  to  add  to  their 
ancient  melody,  "  as  adapted  to  the  stage  by  R.  W. 
Elliston,  fCsi/nire!" 

Full  measure  was  taken  of  the  taste  of  the 
Surrey  and  Olympic  audience,  in  rendering  the 
beautiful  play  as  much  like  a  melodrame  as 
the  nature  of  its  action  would  permit.  I  wish  I 
had  a  bill  to  refer  to ;  but  1  remember  great 
credit  ?/•■  'dsed  as  due  to  the  management 

in  correcting  the  hitherto  inaccurate  costume. 


and  Kean  was  clad  in  a  crimson  velvet  gown,  be- 
dizened with  gold  buttons  and  loops  down  to  his 
feet!  and  Russell,  as  Oswald,  in  white  silk  stock- 
ing!, and  the  same  dress  he  wore  for  Itoderigo! 
But  the  chief  dependance  of  success  was  placed 
on  a  bran-new  hurricane  on  shore,  "  designed 
and  invented"  by  somebody,  "after  the  celebra- 
ted picture,  by  Loutherburg,  of  a  Storm  on 
Land;"  but,  to  give  this  additional  effect,  the 
sea  was  introduced  in  the  back-ground,  the  bil- 
lows, painted  alter  nature,  "curling,  their  mon- 
strous heads  and  hanging  them  with  deafening 
clamours" — trees  were  made  to  see-saw  back 
and  forth,  accompanied  with  the  natural  creak  * 
creak !  attending  the  operation ;  Winston  had 
hunted  up,  without  any  expense  to  tlie  management, 
every  infernal  machine  that  was  ever  able  to- 
spit  fire,  spout  rain,  or  make  thunder,  and  to- 
gether were  brought  into  full  play  behind  the  en- 
trances. Over  head  were  revolving  prismatic 
coloured  transparencies,  to  emit  a  continual- 
changing  supernatural  tint,  and  add  to  the  un- 
earthly character  of  the  scene.  King  Lear  would 
one  instant  appear  a  beautiful  pea-green,  and 
the  next  sky-blue,  and,  in  the  event  of  a  mo- 
mentary cessation  of  the  rotary  motion  of  the 
magic  lantern,  his  head  would  be  purple  and  his 
legs  Dutch-pink.  The  common  fault  of  all  man- 
kind is  vaulting  ambition,  and,  in  the  true  spirit 
of  that  feeling,  every  carpenter  who  was  intrust- 
ed to  shake  a  sheet  of  thunder,  or  turn  a  rain- 
box,  was  determined  that  his  element  should  be 
the  most  conspicuous  of  the  party,  and,  together, 
they  raised  a  hurly-burly  sufficient  to  "  strike 
flat  the  thick  rotundity  o'  the  world,"  and  not  a 
word  was  heard  through  the  whole  of  the  scene. 
Kean  requested  that  it  might  "  be  let  off  easy" 
the  next  night.  "  I  don't  care  how  many  flashes 
of  lightning  you  give  me,"  said  he,  "  but,  for 
Heaven's  sake,  Winston,  expel  your  wind  and 
cut  out  your  thunder." 

To  keep  his  own  name  and  that  of  his  thea- 
tre constantly  before  the  public,  he  knew,  from, 
every  quack's  experience,  was  most  important, 
and  every  means  to  achieve  this  object  was  re- 
sorted to  by  Elliston.  A  portico  to  the  front  en- 
trance was  built  on  one  nig/it  by  torchlight,  and 
the  police  reports  were  continually  decorated 
with  a  long  account  of  an  aggravated  case  of  as- 
sault and  battery,  committed  by  R.  W.  Elliston, 
Esq.,  on  the  person  of  a  check-taker  or  an  apple- 
woman.  The  poor,  persecuted  Queen  Caroline, 
about  this  time  had  arrived  in  England  to  de- 
mand redress  for  the  unmanly  accusations 
brought  against  her  by  her  husband,  and  Ellis- 
ton, taking  good  measure  of  the  weak  point  in 
the  character  of  his  "friend,  George  the  Fourth," 
as  he  always  called  him,  showed  his  one-sided 
loyalty  and  ignorance  at  the  same  time,  by 
omitting  "  et  regina"  at  the  bottom  of  the  play- 
bills, and  leaving  "  vivant  rex."  And  so  the  sin- 
gular plural  remained  for  weeks  till  noticed  by 
the  newspapers,  which,  perhaps,  was  what  he 
desired.  But  this  paltry  attempt  to  wound  the 
feelings  of  a  suffering  female,  for  the  dirty  de- 
sire of  pandering  to  the  malignity  of  her  de- 
praved husband,  was  held  in  contempt  and  de- 
rision by  every  thinking  mind,  and,  1  hope,  by 
even  his  King  among  the  number. 

By  a  succession  of  degradations,  heaped  un- 
sparingly on  the  drama  and  its  professors,  be 
laid  the  groundwork  of  that  ruin  to  which  his 
followers  brought 

Poor  Drury  Lane. 


48 


THIRTY    YEARS 


CHAPTER  XX. 

"  Sir,  I  desire  you  do  me  right  and  justice  : 
I  am  a  most  poor  woman,  and  a  stranger, 
Born  out  of  your  dominions  ;  having  here 
No  judge  indifferent,  nor  no  more  assurance 
Of  equal  friendship  and  proceeding." 

King  Henry  VIII. 

After  leaving  Drury  Lane  there  were  six 
weeks  to  elapse  prior  to  the  opening  of  the  Adel- 
phi,  but,  fortunately  for  me,  when  it  was  first  ru- 
moured that  I  was  about  retiring  from  that  es- 
tablishment, Moncrieff  applied  to  me  to  under- 
take the  character  of  Leperello,  which  he  offered 
to  prepare  expressly  for  me,  in  a  new  piece  called 
"  Giovanni  in  the  Country,"  which  he  was  then 
dramatizing  for  the  Cobourg.  I  consented,  on 
condition  that  my  salary  should  commence  im- 
mediately, and  that  I  should  have  the  privilege 
of  resigning  before  the  Adelphi  opened,  which 
was  readily  acceded  to ;  and  on  a  Saturday  night 
I  bade  farewell  to  "  Old  Drury,"  and  on  Mon- 
day commenced  an  engagement  "  over  the  wa- 
ter," in  my  favourite  character  of  Sponge. 

Glossop  was  the  manager ;  a  very  vulgar,  ig- 
norant man.  1  had  little  to  do  with  him  but  in 
the  way  of  business,  and  he  was  always  ex- 
tremely civil  and  correct  in  his  dealings  where  I 
was  concerned.  His  father  was  a  soap-boiler 
and  candle-maker,  and  through  some  specula- 
tions he  had  made,  which  appeared  most  ridicu- 
lous to  everybody,  had  unexpectedly,  perhaps 
even  to  himself,  realized  an  immense  fortune. 
His  son  married  Miss  Fearon,  whom  I  knew  at 
Plymouth  as  the  "  English  Calalani  !"  She  was 
the  pupil  of  a  violin-player  called  Cobham,  had 
a  delicious  voice,  and,  from  having  been  taught 
from  that  instrument,  her  execution  ever  retain- 
ed the  brilliant,  articulate  character  peculiar  to 
the  "soul-awakening  viol."  She  was,  soon  after 
her  marriage,  separated  from  Glossop,  and,  as 
Madame  Fcron,  visited  this  country  as  a  prima 
donna  some  years  since.  His  connexion  with 
that  lady  probably  induced  him  to  dabble  farther 
with  theatricals,  for  which  he  was  totally  unfit- 
ted, "  and  the  way  he  made  the  old  man's  soap  and 
candles  melt  was  curiovs"  as  poor  Moreland 
would  say.  The  decorations  of  the  theatre  were 
the  most  gorgeous  and  costly  of  any  in  London ; 
good  taste  was  thrust  out  of  the  way  to  make 
room  for  gold,  and  silver,  and  brass,  and  glass, 
and  gas,  in  all  directions,  till  "  the  sense  ached" 
at  the  dazzling  profusion.  No  expenditure  was 
spared  in  the  production  of  the  pieces;  and  the 
house  was  crowded  every  night.  I  was  a  great 
favourite,  and  I  passed  a  pleasant  and  profitable 
time  till  the  day  arrived  to  walk  over  Waterloo 
Bridge,  and  be  once  more  welcomed  at  my  pet 
theatre,  the  Adelphi. 

The  trial  of  Q,ueen  Caroline,  at  about  this 
time,  created  the  most  intense  and  universal 
excitement  among  all  classes  of  persons  ever 
witnessed  in  London  during  my  recollection. 
There  were  two  parties,  equally  violent  in  their 
opinions— the  king's,  cruel  and  vindictive  in 
their  accusations;  and  the  queen's,  boisterous 
and  vehement  in  their  declarations  of  her  inno- 
cence. It  absorbed  every  other  topic  of  conver- 
sation ;  and  the  rancour  with  which  either  posi- 
tion was  maintained  severed  the  bonds  of  old 
friendships,  and  ruffled  the  social  compact 
round  the  domestic  hearth.  Politics,  of  course, 
made  "confusion  more  confounded;"  the  Radi- 
cals took  side  with  the  queen,  and  had  a  most 
overwhelming  majority.  The  particulars  of  the 
case  "  non  mi  recordo,"  and  if  I  did,  they  have  no 


claim  to  a  place  in  these  pages;  suffice  it  to  say, 
I  was  one  of  her  most  enthusiastic  supporters; 
for,  admitting  all  they  brought  against  her  were 
true,  she  was  a  icoman,  and  I  always  make  it  a  rule, 
in  taste,  to  be  on  their  side,  whether  they  are  right 
or  wrong.  In  our  theatre,  both  the  Rodwells  and 
all  the  actors  were  of  my  opinion,  excepting 
good-natured,  foolish  old  Lee,  the  stage-man- 
ager, Willis  Jones,  his  father,  who  was  the 
treasurer,  and  Mrs.  Waylett;  she  declared  she 
thought  the  queen  had  acted  very  imprudently ! ! 
On  the  night  of  her  acquittal  the  excitement  was 
terrific ;  the  military  were  ordered  out,  to  intimi- 
date the  multitude  by  their  presence,  and  in- 
stantly suppress  any  treasonable  outbreak  by  the 
joy-intoxicated  myriads  who  were  parading  the 
streets,  and  rending  the  air  with  shouts  of  tri- 
umph. Our  theatre  was  crowded,  and  it  so 
happened  that  in  the  first  piece  some  fifty  su- 
pernumeraries were  employed.  Highly  elated 
by  the  success  of  my  party,  I  met  these  fellows, 
ready  dressed  for  the  stage,  awaiting  the  com- 
mencement of  the  performance  ;  and,  without 
thought,  in  the  fulness  of  my  feeling,  I  proposed 
"  Three  cheers  for  the  queen!"  which  was  instant- 
ly given,  with  due  dramatic  precision,  and  re- 
sponded to  nine  times  by  the  audience,  in  a  voice 
of  thunder!  All  the  actors  rushed  upon  the 
stage,  dressed  and  undressed,  and  old  Lee,  the 
stage-manager,  in  his  morning-gown ;  but  no 
remark  was  made,  and,  delighted  at  so  excellent 
an  opportunity  of  expressing  my  joy,  I  proceed- 
ed to  dress  for  the  performance.  At  the  conclu- 
sion of  the  first  act,  there  was  a  universal  cry 
for  "God  save  the  Q.ueen!"  The  number  and 
temper  of  the  audience  were  tools  too  dangerous 
to  trifle  with,  and  old  Lee,  who  was  foolish 
enough  to  adore  the  king,  and,  in  consequence, 
hate  the  queen,  had  to  address  them  in  his  "  of- 
ficial capacity  ;"  after,  in  his  usual  style,  stating 
that  he  was  instructed  "  by  Messrs.  Jones  and 
Rodwell  to  inquire  their  pleasure  1"  and  being 
answered  by  a  thousand  voices,  "  trumpet- 
tongued,"  that  they  wanted  "  God  save  the 
CLueen  !"  he  went  on  to  say  that  "we  agnize  no 
anthem  called  'God  save  the  Q,ueen,'  but  if  it 
be  the  wish  of  the  audience,  at  the  end  of  the 
first  piece,  the  company  will  sing  '  God  save  the 
King.'  "  As  he  had  stated,  the  whole  of  the  la- 
dies and  gentlemen  (as  is  usual  on  such  occa- 
sions) appeared  at  the  appointed  time,  and  Mrs. 
Tennant  commenced  the  first  verse,  amid  some 
interruption  by  the  audience, 

"  God  save  great  George,  our  king  ; 
Long  live  our  noble  king  ;  God  save  the — " 

"  Glueen  !"  I  shouted  with  all  my  might.  The 
effect  on  the  actors  and  audience  was  electrical, 
and  peal  on  peal  of  applause  drowned  the  hear- 
ing of  the  termination  of  the  verse ;  the  second 
was  intrusted  to  Jones,  now  of  the  Park,  who, 
in  a  very  gentlemanly  manner,  paused  for  my 
"  Queen !"  some  followers  of  my  own  and  the 
audience  joined  in  the  chorus  according  to  my 
reading,  and  after  an  encore,  either  I  or  the 
"anthem,"  as  Lee  called  it,  got  nine  rounds  of 
applause.  Not  a  word  was  said  by  the  manage- 
ment; Rodwells  appeared  delighted ;  and  Lee's 
opinion  no  one  considered  worth  looking  at; 
but,  before  the  pay-day  came,  I  heard  it  rumour- 
ed that  I  was  to  be  forfeited  a  week's  salary, 
and  my  participators  in  the  treason,  whom  I  had 
seduced  from  their  allegiance,  were  to  be  pun- 
ished in  proportion ;  I  was,  therefore,  prepared 
for  a  defence,  and  proposed  we  should  all  go  in 
a  body  to  the  treasury,  and  that  I  should  enter 


PASSED   AMONG    THE    PLAYERS. 


49 


alone,  and  endeavour  to  obtain  a  mitigation  of 
the  sentence.  When  I  presented  myself,  Mr. 
Jones,  an  amiable  and  most  gentlemanly  man, 
addressed  me  in  the  following  manner: 

"  Mr.  Covvell,  I  assure  you  it  is  with  feelings 
of  the  deepest  regret  that  the  management  con- 
sider it  a  dutv  they  owe  themselves  to  mark,  by 
the  highest  penalty  in  their  power,  the  most  un- 
paralleled breach  of  decorum  ever  committed 
within  the  walls  of  a  well-regulated  theatre.  Of 
the  correctness  of  this  charge  against  you  you 
must  admit  the  justice ;  and  of  the  offence  itself, 
I  have  no  doubt  your  calm  good  sense  has  long 
since  made  you  both  sorry  and  ashamed." 

Here  was  a  loophole  for  me  to  sneak  out  of, 
"but,  heartily  despising  such  means  of  escape,  I 
replied,  "You  are  greatly  mistaken,  sir,  if  you 
imagine  that  my  conduct  was  influenced  by  any- 
thing but  a  cool,  deliberate  feeling  of  a  right  I 
had,  as  an  honest  man,  to  unite  my  poor  voice 
with  thousands  to  rejoioe  at  the  escape  of  a 
wretched  lady  from  her  malignant  oppressor." 

"  Sir  !"  said  he,  with  some  warmth,  "you  and 
I  hold  very  opposite  opinions  on  that  subject, 
and,  however  romantic  yours  may  be,  the  thea- 
tre was  no  place  to  express  it  in." 

"Sir!"  said  I,  with  equal  temper,  "my  ro- 
mantic feeling  in  the  cause  of  an  injured  woman 
will  ever  cause  me  to  set  at  defiance  any  arbi- 
trary law  oppression  can  ever  invent ;  and  there 
is  no  admitted  one,  in  any  theatre,  under  which 
my  supposed  offence  can  be  comprehended." 

"  Why,  I  admit,"  said  he,  hesitatingly,  "that 
there  is  no  specified  rule,  but  you  are  aware  the 
management  has  the  power — " 

"  Yes,"  interrupting  him,  "  they  have  the  pow- 
er over  those — " 

"  But,  my  dear  Mr.  Cowell,"  said  the  kind  old 
man,  not  allowing  me  to  end  my  angry  sentence, 
"  if  your  feelings  were  so  violent  in  the  cause, 
why  didn't  you  control  them  till  after  the  per- 
formance, and  then  give  vent  to  them  in  the 
street  1" 

"  So  I  did !"  I  replied :  "  I  assisted  some  hack- 
ney-coachmen to  break  old  Lee's  windows,  and 
made  him  light  up,  in  spite  of  the  love  he  bears 
to  George  the  Fourth.  But,  sir,  instead  of  con- 
demning this  ebullition  o(  mine,  it  ought  to  be 
applauded  as  an  act  of  policy ;  for,  if  the  singing 
of '  God  save  the  king"  had  been  persisted  in,  the 
exasperated  public  would  have  possibly  destroy- 
ed the  theatre." 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  he,  firmly,  "  I  would  rather 
the  property  had  been  razed  to  the  ground  than 
that  an  expression  of  partisanship  so  different 
from  my  opinion  should  be  bruited  abroad.  I 
think  very  differently,  though  quite  as  enthusi- 
astically on  the  subject  as  you  do ;  the  friend- 
ship of  many  I  hold  dear  would  be  jeopardized 
by  my  allowing  such  a  wanton  abuse  of  deco- 
rum to  pass  unnoticed  ;  I  therefore  must,  in 
self-defence,  retain  your  week's  salary  ;  but  no 
doubt  your  general  anxiety  to  forward  the  in- 
terests of  the  establishment  will  soon  give  the 
management  an  opportunity  of  justly  restoring 
the  sum." 

"  Sir,  I  shall  decline  receiving  it  in  any  shape 
but  as  a  right !"  I  replied.  "  Understanding  that 
this  stretch  of  power  was  to  be  assumed,  I  pre- 
pared for  the  Times  newspaper  this  little  para- 
graph, which,  to  prove  how  anxious  I  am  to  ex- 
onerate you  from  any  participation  or  approval 
of  my  conduct,  I'll  read  to  you."  And  I  produ- 
ced the  following: 

"  UnprecedentedCruelty  and  Oppression. 


—  On  the  night  our  beloved  queen  was  acquitted  of 
the  rile  and  infamous  charges  thai  were  fabricated 
to  achieve  her  ruin,  a  poor  actor,  in  the  fulness  of 
his  heart,  substituted  '  queen1  for  '  king'  in  a  fid- 
some  song  the  overstrained  loyalty  of  the  managers 
of  tlie  Adelphi  Tlieatrc  endeavoured  to  thrust  upon 
the  patience  of  the  audience,  and  for  this  heinous  of- 
fence, in  their  opinion,  these  lawmakers  have  taken 
from  him  his  week's  ivages,  and  his  only  means  of 
support  for  a  wife  and  large  family  of  children." 

"  Why,  surely,  Mr.  Cowell,"  said  the  old  gen- 
tleman, placing  his  spectacles  on  his  forehead, 
and  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  "  you  never  in- 
tended to  publish  such  a  mischievous  article'?" 

"  Most  decidedly  I  do,  sir,"  I  replied.  "  In 
yesterday's  New  Times,  that  queen's  scourge,  as 
it's  properly  called,  there's  a  very  mischievous 
article  at  my  expense,  which  /  know  emanated 
from  the  theatre,  for  the  expression,  that  I  am  as 
illegitimate  in  my  politics  as  lam  in  my  acting,  is 
the  very  words  Lee  appeared  so  tickled  to  have 
hit  upon,  when  I  confessed  to  breaking  his  win- 
dows." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Cowell,"  said  the  good  old  man, 
"  I  see  'tis  vain  to  convince  you  of  your  error — 
there's  your  salary — destroy  that  foolish  paper, 
and  let  us  forget  the  circumstance." 

"  But  there  are  others  implicated,"  said  I. 

"  Oh,  never  fear,"  said  he,  "  I  shall  not  men- 
tion the  subject." 

We  conspirators  met  on  the  stage  after  re- 
hearsal, and  gave  three  loud  cheers,  but  "named 
no  parties." 

My  engagement  at  the  Adelphi  being  for  three 
years,  with  a  probability  of  a  lease,  renewable 
forever  if  I  pleased,  I  was  desirous  of  establish- 
ing myself  in  some  other  theatre  for  the  summer 
months.  Glossop  offered  me  an  increase  of 
salary,  provided  I  would  remain  the  whole  sea- 
son ;  this,  of  course,  I  couldn't  consent  to.  Mor- 
ris made  me  an  offer  for  the  Haymarket,  which 
he  intended  to  open  that  season  by  himself, 
which  I  accepted ;  but  in  arranging  the  points 
of  business,  he  stated  the  opening  play  was  to  be 
the  "  Belle's  Stratagem  :"  Dorecourt,  Charles 
Kemble;  Flutter,  Richard  Jones;  and  I  refused, 
very  foolishly,  to  open  in  Courtall,  and  ended 
that  affair.  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  another 
trip  to  Lincoln  with  my  entertainment,  when,  at 
the  seventh  hour,  I  received  an  offer  from  Will- 
iam Barrymore,  the  author  and  stage-manager 
for  Astley,  to  undertake  the  principal  character 
in  a  magnificent  equestrian  drama,  called  "Gil 
Bias,"  he  was  preparing.  To  obtain  admitted 
talent  in  those  days,  a  high  price  had  to  be  given 
at  a  minor  establishment;  and  Astley,  following 
the  example  of  the  Adelphi,  and  the  fashion  of 
the  time,  had  already  engaged  Henry  Johnston, 
and  Mrs.  Garrick,  a  delightful  singer,  from  the 
Haymarket.  Astley's  always  opened  on  the 
Easter  Monday,  and  we  closed  in  Passion-week, 
and  their  season  ended  about  the  time  the  Adel- 
phi commenced.  The  time  suited  me  exactly;  the 
salary  was  unexceptionable;  I  should  probably 
have  to  play  but  the  one  part  all  the  season, 
and,  in  consequence,  no  rehearsals.  I  therefore 
made  the  engagement,  and  with  the  assistance 
of  a  jackass,  caparisoned  like  a  mule,  with  false 
ears  and  a  tail,  for  he  had  been  "  curtailed  of  his 
fair  proportion"  of  either  to  make  him  some- 
times look  like  a  ponv,  I  was  carried  up  hill 
and  down  dale  as  the  renowned  Gil  Bias,  with 
great  success. 


50 


THIRTY  YEARS 


CHATER  XXI. 


"  Poins.  Come,  your  reason,  Jack— your  reason. 

"  Fahtaff.  What,  upon  compulsion  ?  No :  were  I  at  the 
strappado,  or  all  the  racks  in  the  world,  I  would  not  tell 
you  on  compulsion.  Give  you  a  reason  on  compulsion  !  if 
reasons  were  as  plenty  as  blackberries,  I  would  give  no  man 
areasonupon  compulsion,  I."— First  part  of  King  Henry  IV. 

Sterne  says,  in  one  of  his  sermons,  "There 
are  secret  workings  in  human  affairs,  which 
overrule  all  human  contrivance,  and  counter- 
plot the  wisest  of  our  councils,  in  so  strange  and 
unexpected  a  manner,  as  to  cast  a  damp  upon 
our  best  schemes  and  warmest  endeavours." 
Some  sueh  a  "  secret  working"  induced  me 
about  this  period  to  be  most  anxious  to  bid  "  my 
native  land  good-night." 

Oxberry  was  publishing  an  edition  of  plays, 
with  portraits  of  the  principal  performers ;  his 
engraver  lived  immediately  opposite  to  my  lodg- 
ing, and  when  he  had  business  with  him  he  gen- 
erally paid  me  a  visit.  He  was  in  some  trouble 
one  day  in  consequence  of  his  not  being  able  to 
procure  a  likeness  of  Charles  Kemble,  in  Romeo, 
for  which  the  publication  of  the  tragedy  was  de- 
tained, and  though  I  had  never  spoken  to  Charles 
Kemble  in  my  life,  his  face  was  so  "  screwed  to 
my  memory,"  I  undertook  to  make  a  drawing. 
He  stayed  to  dinner  with  me,  and  during  our 
conversation  while  employed  upon  the  sketch 
(which  was  published  with  my  name  as  the 
artist),  he  happened  to  mention  that  Stephen 
Price,  the  American  manager,  was  a  constant 
visiter  of  the  Drury  Lane  Green-room,  intro- 
duced by  Wallack,  who  had  been  to  the  United 
States,  and  went  on  to  say  that  he  had  made  him 
an  offer  to  cross  the  Atlantic.  "  Upon  this  hint 
I  spake." 

"  By  Heaven,  Oxberry,  that  would  be  the  very 
thing  lor  me." 

"  Why,  that  never  entered  my  head,"  said  he — 
he  knew  my  reason ;  "  but  how  will  you  be  able 
to  manage  with  your  engagement  at  the  Adelphil 
Price  will  jump  at  you,  for  to  get  a  comedian  is 
the  principal  object  of  his  visit  to  England." 

"Why,  Rod  well  and  I  are  old  friends,"  said  I, 
"  and  the  management  collectively  have  a  warm 
feeling  towards  me,  and  under  the  circumstances, 
I  have  no  doubt  of  their  consent ;  at  all  events, 
if  this  American  and  I  agree,  I'll  go  at  any  risk." 
"  Oh,  of  that  there  is  no  danger,"  said  Oxberry, 
"  and  I'll  see  him  to-night,  and  name  you  to  him ; 
he's  a  devilish  pleasant  fellow,  when  you  get 
used  to  him,  but  his  manners  are  coarse  in  the 
extreme  ;  if  he  is  a  fair  specimen  of  the  Yankees, 
they  must  be  a  d—  rough  set.  But  they  say 
he's  very  rich,  a  counsellor,  and  a  colonel  in  the 
army,  and  the  devil  knows  what.  He's  the  Mr. 
Harris  of  America,  and  owns  all  the  Uiealres  in 
the  United  Stales .'" 

On  the  following  day  I  got  a  note  from  Stephen 
Price,  requesting  that  I  would  breakfast  with 
him  at  ten  o'clock  the  next  morning.  He  lodg- 
ed in  Norfolk-street,  in  the  Strand.  The  door 
was  opened  by  a  servant-girl;  in  answer  to  my 
inquiry,  she  said,  "  Fll  see,"  and  in  a  minute  a 
negro  man  appeared,  and  showed  his  own  teeth 
and  me  into  the  parlour,  where  a  cloth  was  laid 
for  breakfast.  In  a  short  time  he  returned  to  say, 
"Mr.  Price  would  be  glad  to  see  me  upstairs."  I 
was  conducted  to  a  chamber;  and  on  the  bed,  with 
his  feet  wrapped  in  flannel,  and  his  body  in  a  wad- 
ded silk  morning-gown,  lay  Stephen  Price.  In 
a  peculiarly  distinct,  drawling  manner,  which, 
till  you  got  accustomed  to  it,  had  a  very  singu- 
lar effect,  he  said  the  usual  civil  things  on  a  first 


meeting.  The  hesitency  in  his  style  of  delivery, 
didn't  convey  an  idea  that  he  was  waiting  for 
words,  lor  he  appeared  a  very  well-informed 
man ;  but  rather,  that  he  was  weighing  the  value 
of  each,  and  its  probable  consequences,  before 
he  gave  it  utterance.  As  some  one  remarked  of. 
him,  "  Stephen  Price  is  not  a  man  to  eat  his 
words,  but  he  always  chews  them  well  up  before 
he  spits  them  out."  Of  his  person  no  opinion 
could  be  formed,  in  consequence  of  its  attitude 
and  costume  ;  his  countenance  was  anything  but 
what  would  be  called  good,  though  capable  of 
an  extremely  agreeable  expression ;  small,  bright, 
mischievous  eyes,  an  abominable  nose — looking 
like  a  large  thumb  very  much  swollen,  and  near- 
ly "coming  to  a  head,"  but  decision  and  firm- 
ness strongly  marked  around  his  mouth;  his 
appearance  and  manner  were  greatly  at  vari- 
ance, for  he  looked  like  fifty,  and  talked  like- 
twenty. 

"  I  must  apologize  to  you,  Mr.  Cowell,"  said 
he,  "for  asking  you  to  take  your  breakfast  in, 
my  bedroom;  but  after  calling  in  at  Astley's  to 
see  you,  Jeemcs  Wallack  and  myself  finished  the 
evening  at  Vauxhall,  and  I  didn't  get  home  till 
four  this  morning;  and  the  cons'quence  is  I 
caught  cold,  and  have  got  a  fit  of  the  b —  gout 
— I'm  very  subject  to  the  d —  thing.  But  Wal- 
laces the  d —  b —  I  ever  met  with— nothing  ever 
hurts  him." 

I,  of  course,  was  exactly  of  his  way  of  think- 
ing. 

"  Mr.  Oxberry  informs  me,  sir,"  said  he,  "  that 
you  have  a  desire  to  visit  New-Yo-ork." 
"  I  have,  sir,"  I  replied. 
"  Well,  sir,"  said  he,  "I'll  tell  you,  cand'dly, 
that  I'm  d —  if  you'll  do  for  New-Yo-ork,  if  you 
are  not  a  better  actor  than  you  a'peared  last 
night.  I'll  tell  you  what  'tis,  there's  a  little  b— 
in  the  Park  Theatre  of  the  name  of  Nexon,  who 
can  play  that  character  quite  as  well  as  you  can, 
and  he  merely  d'livers  messages  there." 

"You  hare,  I  conclude,  then,  an  excellent 
company,"  said  I,  a  little  nettled,  "on  your  side 
the  water  V 

"  A  d —  deal  better  company  than  they  have  in 
any  theatre  in  London,"  said  he,  faster  than  any- 
thing he  had  said  yet.  "  I  have  a  young  man, 
a  countryman  of  yours,  of  the  name  of  Simp-son; 
he's  a  much  better  actor  than  your  cePbrated 
Jones,  somewheres  about  his  size,  and  the  most 
industrious  b —  in  the  world.  I  have  given  him 
one  quarter  of  the  Park  Theatre,  and  made  him 
my  stage-manager,"  looking  at  me  as  if  to  give 
me  a  hope  I  might  get  a  quarter  if  I  minded  my 
hits  ;  but  I  said,  as  if  ending  the  treaty, 

"Well,  sir,  surrounded  as  you  are  by  such  a 
galaxy  of  talent,  it  will  be  advisable  for  me  to 
remain  in  London  1" 

"Why,  sir,"  he  replied,  quickly,  "  I'll  tell  you 
what  'tis :  Jeemes  Wallack  and  sev'ral  of  my 
friends  say  that  you're  a  b —  good  actor,  but  that 
you  won't  act  at  Astley's.  What  will  you  take 
to  go  to  New-Yo-ork  1" 

"Fifteen  pounds  a  week,"  I  replied. 
"  I'll  give  you  ten  pounds  a  week  for  the  first 
season,"  said" he,  "  and  twelve  for  the  second." 
"Agreed,"  said  I. 
"  When  can  you  gol"  said  he. 
"  To-morrow,"  said  I. 

"Well,  sir,"  said  he,  smiling,  "I'm  d—  but 
you  are  certainly  the  easiest  man  to  make  a  bar- 
gain I  ever  dealt  with." 

If  he  had  known,  however,  as  much  as  I  did, 
he  would  have  offered  me  a  guinea  a  week,  and 


PASSED    AMONG    THE    PLAYERS. 


51 


I  would  have  taken  it ;  but,  Heaven  be  praised ! 
he  didn't,  and  he  continued, 

"  There's  an  etemalfine  ship,  called  the  Tames, 
sails  from  London  on  the  first  of  September,  and 
another,  called  the  Albion,  on  the  same  day  from 
Liverpool,  in  which  I  shall  sail.  The  only  dif- 
'rence  in  the  thing  is,  you  get  to  sea  a  d —  deal 
quicker  by  going  to  Liverpool." 

I  gave  the  London  ship  the  preference,  as 
more  convenient  on  account  of  baggage,  and 
trat  I  might  once  more  visit  my  old  cruising- 
ground  the  British  Channel,  and  perhaps  forever 
bid  farewell  to  the  scenes  of  my  boyhood. 

The  terms  of  benefits,  and  other  important 
items  of  the  engagement,  were  pointed  out  and 
specified  in  a  plain,  honest,  business-like  man- 
ner. He  was  to  see  Captain  Charles  H.  Mar- 
shall, and  secure  the  passages,  and  have  the  arti- 
cles prepared  for  signature,  during  the  little  week 
that  was  to-  elapse  before  my  departure.  We 
had  a  long  and  extremely  pleasant  conversation, 
chiefly  descriptive  of  the  country  I  was  about  to 
adopt.  His  style  was  peculiarly  suited  to  mi- 
nute detail,  and  information  in  that  shape,  then 
so  interesting  to  me,  was  highly  entertaining; 
and,  to  his  honour  be  it  said,  I  did  not  detect 
by  experience  the  most  remote  exaggeration  in 
any  of  the  matters  he  named,  always  excepting 
the  talent  of  his  dramatic  corps,  and  even  there 
"  his  failing  leaned  to  virtue's  side."  And  upon 
acquaintance,  I  found  he  made  it  a  rule  to  speak 
of  all,  while  in  his  employ,  in  the  most  exalted 
terms  of  praise,  but,  the  moment  they  left  him, 
they  were  "d —  impostors  and  b —  scoundrels." 
The  coarse  and  highly  objectionable  epithets 
with  which  he  unsparingly  larded  nis  conversa- 
tion were  delivered,  apparently,  so  unconscious- 
ly, and,  from  long  habit,  were  mixed  up  so  mi- 
nutely with  his  discourse,  that  by  those  familiar 
with  him  the  peculiarity  would  pass  unnoticed. 

My  lamented  friend  Rodwell  met  my  case 
with  the  feeling  of  a  brother,  but  Jones  was  out 
of  town,  and,  without  his  concurrence,  the  neces- 
sary form  of  release  from  my  obligation  could 
not  be  effected;  but,  as  "  the  affair  cried  haste," 
he  undertook  to  write  to  him.  As  Price  very 
justly  said,  "  Anybody  could  play  Gil  Bias  as 
well  as  I  did;"  the  part  itself  was  little  better 
than  a  walking  gentleman,  and  the  jackass  sus- 
tained that  part  of  the  character ;  and  though 
the  author  intended  we  should  divide  the  ap- 
plause, I  quietly  resigned  my  share  in  his  favour. 
I  felt,  therefore,  confident  that  Astley  would  be 
delighted  to  save  my  useless  and  large  salary  for 
the  next  four  weeks,  but,  to  my  great  astonish- 
ment— for  I  put  the  cause  of  my  wishing  to  re- 
sign on  that  footing — he  declared  himself  more 
than  satisfied  with  my  engagement,  and  refused, 
in  the  most  positive  manner,  to  give  up  my  arti- 
cles. To  him,  of  course,  I  said  nothing  of  my 
intention  of  sailing  to  America.  On  Friday 
evening  Willis  Jones  sent  for  me  to  the  stage 
door,  presented  me  with  a  letter,  full  of  kind 
wishes-,  from  Rodwell,  and  the  documents  of  our 
agreement,  and  we  parted — as  warm  friends  al- 
ways part.  I  complained  of  indisposition,  and 
Astley,  who,  unlike  his  father,  was  a  most  gen- 
tlemanly creature — in  manner  and  appearance 
more  like  an  eminent  physician  or  a  clergyman 
than  the  manager  of  a  circus — insisted  that  I 
shouldn't  play;  and  some  young  man,  who  had 
bsen  instructed,  in  case  of  an  accident,  to  under- 
studv  the  character,  took  the  jackass  ride  for  me, 
and  I  packed  up  my  baggage.  The  next  morn- 
ing I  signed  and  sealed  with  Price,  was  introdu- 


ced to  the  captain,  who  was  our  witness  on  the 
occasion,  and  on  Sunday  evening  I  joined  the 
ship  at  Gravesend. 

It  was  a  dark,  drizzly,  melancholy  night — a 
fair  specimen  of  Gravesend  weather  and  the 
parts  adjacent — no  "  star  that's  westward  from 
the  pole"  to  point  my  destined  path,  and  furnish 
food  for  speculative  thought;  and,  after  sliding 
five  or  six  times  up  and  down  some  twenty  feet 
of  wet  deck,  I  groped  my  way  to  the  cabin.  The 
captain  was  not  on  board,  and  I  found  myself  a 
stranger  among  men,  for  there  were  four  besides 
myself,  or,  rather,  three,  for  one  was  asleep,  I 
suppose,  for  he  was  snoring  very  loud,  in  a  berth 
next  to  my  state-room.  Such  stopped-headed 
gentlemen  are  an  abominable  nuisance,  near,  or 
in  your  dormitory  on  shore,  in  harbour,  or 
"caught  in  a  calm;"  but  under  way  on  the  At- 
lantic, he  may  breathe  as  loud  and  in  any  way 
he  thinks  proper,  without  inconvenience  to  any- 
body but  himself.  Of  all  gregarious  animals, 
man  is  the  most  tardy  in  getting  acquainted: 
meet  them  for  the  first  time  in  a  jury-box,  a 
stage-coach,  or  the  cabin  of  a  ship,  and  they  al- 
ways remind  me  of  a  little  lot  of  specimen  sheep 
from  different  flocks,  put  together  for  the  first 
time  in  the  same  pen ;  they  walk  about,  and 
round  and  round,  with  all  their  heads  and  tails 
in  different  directions,  and  not  a  baa !  escapes 
them;  but  in  half  an  hour  some  crooked-pated 
bell-wether,  perhaps,  gives  a  South-down  a  little 
dig  in  the  ribs,  and  this  example  is  followed  by 
a  Merino,  and,  before  the  ending  of  the  fair,  theii* 
heads  are  all  one  way,  and  you'll  find  them  bleat- 
ing together  in  full  chorus. 

Now,  in  the  case  of  man,  a  snuff-box,  or  a 
mull,  instead  of  the  sheep's  horn,  is  an  admira- 
ble introduction  ;  for,  if  he  refuses  to  take  a 
pinch,  he'll  generally  give  you  a  sufficient  reason 
why  he  does  not,  and  that's  an  excellent  chance- 
to  form,  perhaps,  a  lasting  friendship — but  te*> 
"scrape  an  acquaintance"  to  a  certainty;  and 
if  he  takes  it,  perhaps  he'll  sneeze,  and  you  can. 
come  in  with  your  "  God  bless  you !"  and  so  on, 
to  a  conversation  about  the  plague  in  '66,  or  the 
yellow  fever  on  some  other  occasion,  and  can 
"  bury  your  friends  by  dozens,"  and  "  escape 
yourself  by  miracle,"  very  pleasantly  for  half  an 
hour.  But  in  this  instance  it  was  a  total  failure : 
one  said,  "I  don't  use  it;"  another  shook  his 
head,  and  the  third  emptied  his  mouth  of  half  a 
pint  of  spittle,  and  said  "  he  thought  it  bad 
enough  to  chaw."  Well,  as  I  couldn't  with 
propriety  ask  why  he  "didn't  use  snuff,"  and 
the  mandarin-man  might  be  dumb  for  anything 
I  knew  to  the  contrary,  and  expect  me  to  talk; 
with  my  fingers ;  and  if  I  had  contradicted  the 
last  I  might,  from  his  appearance  and  manner, 
have  got  into  a  fight  instead  of  a  chat,  I  quietly 
took  a  seat  at  the  table,  snuffed  two  tallow-can- 
dles, and  took  a  synopsis  of  the  floating  apart- 
ment. There  were  two  horse-hair  sofas  on 
either  side  a  table,  twelve  berths  with  red  cur- 
tains and  sea-sick-yellow  fringe,  and,  properly, 
four  state-rooms  forward  of  the  mizen-mast  one 
of  which  Price  had  engaged  for  myself  and  Mrs. 
Cowell,  and  the  one  next  to  it  was  used  as  a  pan- 
try. I  was  speculating  as  to  what  kind  of  hu- 
man beings  were  shut  up  in  the  other  two,  when 
my  curiosity  was  half  removed  by  a  female 
leading  out  a  beautiful  little  boy  from  one  of 
them.  No  matter  what  I  may  be  with  men  and 
women,  I  am  always  a  great  favourite  with 
dogs,  and  cats,  and  infants  of  a  certain  age,  and 
we  generally  get  acquainted  in  an  instant.    He 


52 


THIRTY  TEARS,   ETC. 


had  just  gained  that  delightful  period  when  chil- 
dren think  more  than  they  have  power  to  utter; 
and  I  love  to  translate  their  innocent  thoughts. 
I  had  been  obliged  to  leave  my  two  dear  boys  to 
follow  me;  and  this  little  fellow,  by  reminding 
me  of  them,  seemed  to  have  a  claim  to  my  af- 
fection ;  his  mother  was  a  simple,  amiable  crea- 
ture in  her  deportment,  and  myself  and  wife 
were  rejoiced  at  meeting  companions  for  our 
voyage  so  suited  to  our  feeling.  She,  with  art- 
less eloquence,  told  us  that  her  husband,  an  Eng- 
lish farmer  in  good  circumstances,  had  sailed 
for  America  more  than  three  years  before,  and 
that  she  had  been  prevented  accompanying  him 
in  consequence  of  the  sudden  illness  of  her 
mother,  "  who  is  in  heaven  now,"  and,  with  her 
beautiful  baby,  whom  his  father  had  never  seen, 
■was  journeying  to  her  new  home  in  the  United 
States. 

In  the  morning  the  captain  arrived,  and  in- 
troduced me  to  the  gentleman  who  didn't  use 
snuff,  as  Mr.  Scovell,  a  part-owner  of  the  vessel ; 
he  was  a  resident  of  New-York,  and  in  partner- 
ship with  his  brother,  a  merchant  in  South-street, 
but  a  native  of  Connecticut;  and  after  the  river 
in  that  state,  which  wanders  "his  silver  wind- 
ing way,"  the  ship  was  named,  and  pronounced 
by  him  as  spelled,  the  Thames;  contrary  to  the 
usage  of 

"Full  many  a  sprightly  race, 
Disporting  on  the  margent  green" 

of"  father  Thames;"  whether  "  bound  'prentice 
to  a  waterman,"  or  "on  earnest  business  bent," 
all  there  agree  to  call  it  "  Terns."  The  gentle- 
man who  shook  his  head  was  a  Presbyterian  cler- 
gyman, of  the  name  of  Arbuckle,  of  Pennsylva- 
nia, a  most  amiable  young  man.  The  chaw 
individual  had  a  sick  wife  on  board,  a  sufficient 
excuse  for  his  being  very  disagreeable ;  and  I 
make  it  a  rule  never  to  remember  the  names  of 
persons  I  don't  think  it  worth  while  to  like  or 
dislike.  My  friend  with  the  impediment  in  his 
nose  was  Mr.  John  Kent,  who  claimed  to  be  a 
brother  actor;  he  was  engaged  by  Mr.  Price, 
but  I  had  never  been  introduced  to  him  before. 
The  captain  was  Charles  H.  Marshall,  a  very 
good-looking,  and  very  fine  fellow,  with  "  no 


drowning  marks  upon  him."  The  mate  was 
a  weather-beaten,  humorous  "sea-monster;" 
upon  asking  his  name,  he  replied, 

"If you're  an  Englishman,  and  I  once  tell 
you  my  name,  you'll  never  forget  it." 

"  I  don't  know  that,"  I  replied ;  "  I'm  very  un- 
fortunate in  remembering  names." 

"  Oh,  never  mind!"  said  he,  with  a  peculiarly 
sly,  comical  look:  "if  you're  an  Englishman 
you'll  never  forget  mine." 

"  Then  I  certainly  am,"  I  replied. 

"Well,  then,"  said  he,  dryly,  "my  name's 
Bunker!  and  I'm  d —  if  any  Englishman  will 
ever  forget  that  name !" 

"All  in  the  Downs  the  fleet  lay  moored,"  as 
visual;  perhaps  twenty  sail,  bound  to  all  sorts 
of  places,  and  waiting  for  all  sorts  of  winds,  and 
we  were  obliged  to  follow  the  fashion  of  that 
abominable  stopping-place  ;  but  the  few  days' 
detention  gave  our  small  party  time  to  get  ac- 
quainted e'er  that 

"  The  vessel  spread  her  ample  sail 
From  Albion's  coast,  obsequious  to  the  gale." 

My  pet  and  playfellow  and  myself  were 
sworn  friends  ;  and  'twas  delicious,  each  night, 
to  listen  to  him  while,  with  his  little  hands  to- 
wards heaven  held,  kneeling  at  his  mother's  feet, 
and  gazing  with  childish  earnestness  on  her  face, 
made  beautiful  by  the  expression  of  pure  piety, 
repeat  in  lisping  tones,  soft  and  sweet  as  music 
at  a  distance,  prayers  and  blessings  on  a  father 
he  had  never  seen.  On  a  Saturday  night  he  went 
to  bed  apparently  well,  and  the  next  morning  he 
was  a  corpse  !  he  had  died  of  the  croup. 

A  fair  breeze  had  sprung  up,  and  orders  were 
necessarily  given  to  unmoor.  He  was  hurried 
to  the  burial-ground  at  Deal.  The  mother's 
agony  was  frightful;  and  when  she  saw  him 
placed  in  "his  narrow  eell."  "Oh!  the  cry  did 
knock  against  my  very  heart !"  and  the  last  tear 
I  shed  upon  my  native  land  moistened 

AN   INFANT'S    GRAVE. 


"  As  one  who,  in  his  journey,  bates  at  noon, 
Though  bent  on  speed," 

I'll  here  end  the  first  volume. 


THIRTY    YEARS 


PASSED  AMONG  THE  PLAYERS 


IN 


ENGLAND  AND  AMERICA: 


INTERSPERSED    WITH 


ANECDOTES  AND  REMINISCENCES 

OF    A    VARIETY    OF    PERSONS, 
DIRECTLY    OR    INDIRECTLY    CONNECTED    WITH    THE    DRAMA    DURING    THE 

THEATRICAL   LIFE   OF 

JOE    COWELL,   COMEDIAN. 

WRITTEN  BY  HIMSELF. 


IN    TWO    PARTS. 

PART  II.-AMERICA. 


"  So  many  particulars  may  perhaps  disgust  a  philosophical  reader ;  but  curiosity,  that  weakness  so  com- 
mon to  mankind,  deserves  a  higher  name  when  it  is  employed  upon  times  and  persons  of  which  posterity 
has  no  other  means  of  forming  an  opinion." — Chambaud. 


NEW-YORK: 
HARPER   &   BROTHERS,  82  CLIFF-STREET. 

1844. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1843,  hy 

Harper  &  Brothers, 

hi  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  Southern  District  of  New- York- 


T  HI  RTF    FEARS 


PASSED   AMONG   THEPLAYE  R  S. 


CHAPTER  I. 

"  Home  of  the  free  !     Land  of  the  great  and  good, 

Whose  heritage  is  glory  !     Hail  to  thee  '. 
Thou  oft.  undaunted,  nobly  hath  withstood 

Europa"s  best  and  proudest  chivalry  ; 
And,  conquering,  won  a  mighty  destiny 

First  rnid  the  nations  ;  and  thy  flag  of  light 
Gleams  on  all  climes,  a  brilliant  galaxy, 

To  guide  to  Freedom  from  foul  Slavery's  might  ; 
Typing  thy  hero-sous'  apotheosis  bright." 

Lewis  Foulke  Thomas. 

We  left  the  Downs  on  the  8th  of  September, 
1821,  and,  after  a  tedious  and  most  boisterous 
passage,  on  the  23d  of  October,  as  the  sun  "went 
down  into  the  sea,"  the  welcome  cry  of  "  Land, 
ho  !"  from  the  ibretop,  cheered  the  spirits  of  the 
mind-tired  passengers  and  worn-out  crew.     We 
had  a  light,  fair  breeze  and  fine  weather,  and  we 
stood  boldly  on  all  night.     For  though  "  the  A. 
No.  1,  copper-bottomed,  good  ship  Thames,"  as 
she  was  rated  on  the  books  at  Lloyd's,  had  well- 
nigh  sent  "  Old  Kent  and  I,"  parson  and  all,  to 
the  bottom,  the  captain  was  "of  very  expert 
and  approved  allowance,"  and  at  daylight — tor 
be  sure  I  was  in  his  watch— for  the  first  time  in 
my  life,  I  beheld  the  Highlands  of  Neversink. 
Marshall  and  myself  had  become  great  friends, 
and,  being  most  anxious  to  get  to  the  city,  he  kind- 
ly allowed  me  to  take  the  yawl  with  four  hands, 
and  as  Scovill  was  equally  desirous,  he  accom- 
panied me.    After  four  hours'  good  rowing  we 
met  the  tide,  and  were  obliged  to  make  a  landing 
on  Staten  Island,  about  two  miles  from  the  Quar- 
antine ground.     Leaving  the  boat  in  the  care  of 
the  people,  the  owner  and  myself  walked  to  the 
ferry.     The  steamer  Nautilus,  which  was  still 
puffing  and  blowing  in  the  same  line  of  business 
when  I  was  last  in  New- York,  six  years  ago, 
]anded  us  at  the  Battery.     Scovill  took  me  to 
his  counting-room  and   introduced  me  to  his 
brother,  who  very  sedately,  yet  kindly,  welcom- 
ed me  to  his  country,  and  their  porter  conducted 
me  to  the  Park  Theatre.     Price  was  standing 
on  the  steps,  and  as  the  ship  was  not  yet  even 
reported  "  below,"  he  had  no  expectation  of  see- 
ing me,  and,  in  fact,  had  begun  to  suspect  the 
ship  was  below  in  the  genuine  sense  of  the  word. 
Jt  was  after  the  time  of  rehearsal,  and  Simpson 
had  left  the  theatre.    Price  gave  me  the  address 
of  a  boarding-house  he  had  kindly  provided  for 
me,  and,  of  course,  asked  me  to  dinner,  which  I 
declined,  on  the  score  of  having  placed  myself, 
as  it  were,  under  the  conduct  of  Scovill  for  the 
day,  and  he  would,  of  course,  expect  me,  but 
promised  to  be  at  the  theatre  in  the  evening. 

I  returned  to  the  counting-room.  Both  the 
merchants  inquired  if  I  had  seen  Mr.  Price- 
how  I  liked  the  city.     "  Wasn't  it  very  superior 


to  London?1'  and  so  on;  handed  me  a  news- 
paper, turned  the  top  of  a  candle-box  inside  out, 
and  begged  I  would  be  seated.  For  an  hour  or 
more  they  continued  in  conversation,  and  I  to 
read  the  National  Advocate,  every  advertisement 
decorated  with  a  woodcut  of  little  boys  pulling 
on  boots,  ladies  having  their  hair  dressed,  and 
other  useful  and  necessary  arts  illustrated,  on  a 
sheet  of  paper  about  the  same  size  as  two  pages 
of  the  Penny  Magazine.  I  had  read  it  all  through 
once,  and  got  so  far  the  second  time  as  the  price 

for  advertising,  and  "published  by  Phillips 

and  edited  by  M.  M.  Noah,"  when  one  Scovill 
looked  at  his  watch  and  the  other  asked  the 
time — they  were  partners  even  to  a  watch — and 
they  both  agreed  it  was  the  dinner-hour;  took 
their  hats;  begged  I  wouldn't  disturb  myself; 
"would  be  happy  to  see  me  at  any  time;  Is/wuld 
always  find  the  morning  news,"  and  walked  off. 
During  the  passage  Scovill  had  been  very  un- 
well, and  very  frightened,  and,  under  the  cir- 
cumstances, I  had  been  able  to  render  him  some 
very  valuable  services  ;  any  attention  while  suf- 
fering from  terror  or  sea-sickness  is  very  apt  to 
produce  strong  symptoms  of  gratitude  at  the 
time,  and  I  don't  know  what  Scovill  had  not 
promised  to  do  for  me  when  he  got  to  New- York. 
But  I  had  a  right  to  expect  a  dinner;  for  soon 
after  leaving  the  ship  in  the  morning,  in  conse- 
quence of  shipping  a  spray  now  and  then,  and 
the  boat,  having  been  so  long  out  of  the  water, 
leaked  a  little,  we  were  obliged  to  bail ;  at  the 
sight  of  this  operation  his  heart  failed  him,  and 
he  entreated  us  to  go  back ;  but  upon  assuring 
him  that  there  was  not  the  least  cause  of  alarm, 
to  change  the  subject  of  his  thoughts,  I  presume, 

"  Trembling  and  talking  loud," 

he  said,  "  Of  course  you'll  dine  and  spend  the 
day  with  me  and  my  dear  brother'?"  and  I  said, 
"Yes."  But  I  conclude  his  dear  brother  didn't 
calculate  there  was  any  advantage  to  be  gained, 
in  a  mercantile  point  of  view,  by  an  acquaint- 
ance with  a  play-actor,  and  as  I  was  not  likely 
to  be  of  any  farther  use  to  my  sea  friend,  the  little 
expense  was  very  prudently  saved. 

Tumbling  by  accident  over  such  specimens  of 
humanity,  on  first  landing  in  a  strange  country, 
frequently  lays  the  foundation  of  a  lasting  prej- 
udice against  a  whole  people.  I  stood  for  a  few 
seconds  on  the  threshold  of  that  inhospitable 
door, 

"And  sighed  my  English  breath  in  foreign  clouds." 
My  acquaintance  with  Price  was  too  slight 
to  return  to  him  and  explain  my  disappointment, 
and  accept  his  proffered  dinner;  and,  indeed, 
how  could  I  tell  but  that  he  had  also  repented  of 
his  impulsive  civility,  and  that  I  might  receive 


56 


THIRTY    YEARS 


a  second,  and,  from  him,  a  more  severe  mortifi- 
cation 1  I  had  refused  to  be  introduced  to  the 
boarding-house  Price  had  selected,  preferring 
that  my  dear  wife  should  form  an  unbiased 
opinion  of  the  necessary  comforts  required  for 
our  new  home.  There  was  no  human  being  to 
my  knowledge  I  was  acquainted  with  in  New- 
York,  with  the  exception  of  Barnes,  who,  I  found, 
was  a  member  of  the  company ;  he  had  ever 
been  very  kind  to  me  while  at  Plymouth — he 
used  to  call  me  his  son — and  if  I  had  been,  he 
could  not  have  shown  more  anxiety  to  give  me 
every  instruction  in  his  power,  in  my  early  at- 
tempts at  low  comedy.  But  some  years  had 
elapsed  since  we  parted,  and  the  Atlantic  rolled 
between  the  land  where  our  friendship  had  been 
formed,  and  inviting  myself  to  dinner  was  rather 
an  odd  way  of  renewing  it.  I  could  not  tell,  too, 
if  change  of  air,  as  well  as  circumstances,  might 
not  have  an  effect  on  that  "  charm  that  lulls  to 
sleep,"  and  give  likely  cause  "  to  steep  his  senses 
in  forgetfulness." 

When  we  left  the  ship,  Scovill  had  provided 
himself  with  a  "hunk"  of  gingerbread—  that  is,  if 
a  cake  of  molasses  and  flour,  without  spice,  could 
be  so  called — and  myself  and  the  men  with  some 
bread  and  pork,  and  a  keg  of  water;  nearly  all 
the  luxuries  the  ship  could  boast  of,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  some  sea-sick  ducks,  a  pig  with  the 
measles,  and  a  sheep  in  a  consumption ;  for,  as 
the  never-to-be-forgotten  Bunker  said, 

"  It  coughs  like  a  Christian,  don't  it,  parson?" 

It  will  readily  be  imagined  that  I  had  a  most 
devouring  appetite,  for,  with  the  exception  of  a 
"  bite"  in  the  boat,  I  had  not  tasted  food  since 
the  night  before.  I  had  put  in  my  pockets,  more 
for  show  than  service,  some  thirteen  or  fourteen 
English  shillings :  New- York  was  then  a  very 
different  place  of  accommodation  for  travellers 
from  what  it  is  at  the  present  day ;  no  oyster-cel- 
lars that  you  could  tumble  into  at  every  corner ; 
"  restaurat"  staring  you  in  the  face  in  every 
street ;  and  coffee-houses,  and  all  sorts  of  houses, 
capable  and  ready  to  accommodate  a  stranger. 
The  only  two  places  of  the  kind  in  existence 
then,  even  when  you  were  directed  where  to  find 
them,  was  "  Morse's,"  a  very  humbly-fitted-up 
cellar,  where  a  table-cloth  was  never  seen,  and 
a  clean  knife  only  by  waiting  till  the  operation 
was  performed,  under  a  store  in  Park  Row,  where 
now,  I  suppose,  there  are  thirty ;  and  there  you 
could  get  a  fried  beef-steak,  raw  oysters,  or  soup 
made  of  the  same  material,  which  at  that  time  I 
considered  sauce  for  codfish  by  another  name ; 
and  one  of  a  little  better  class,  kept  by  a  French- 
man, under  Washington  Hall,  then  the  second 
best  hotel  in  the  city.  After  wandering  about  I 
knew  not  whither,  "  oppressed  with  two  weak 
evils,"  fatigue  and  hunger,  I  entered  what  in 
London  would  be  called  a  chandler's  shop,  put 
some  money  on  the  counter,  and  inquired  if  they 
would  sell  me  for  that  coin  some  bread  and  but- 
ter and  a  tempting  red  herring  or  two  I  saw  in 
a  barrel  at  the  door. 

"Why,  what  coin  is  if!"  said  a  fellow  in  a 
red-flannel  shirt  and  a  straw  hat. 

"English  shillings,"  I  replied. 

"  No,"  said  the  fellow,  "  I  know  nothing  about 
English,  shillings,  nor  English  anything,  nor  I 
don't  want  to." 

I  thought,  under  all  the  circumstances,  and 
from  the  appearance  of  the  brute,  it  might  be 
imprudent  to  extol  or  explain  their  value,  and 
therefore  I  "  cast  one  longing,  lingering  look  be- 


hind" at  the  red  herrings  in  the  barrel,  and  turn- 
ed the  corner  of  the  street,  where  I  encountered 
two  young  men  picking  their  teeth,  for  which  I 
have  never  forgiven  them. 

The  feelings  created  by  the  war  with  Eng- 
land, then  long  since  over,  was  still  rankling  in 
the  minds  of  the  lower  order  of  Americans,  as  if 
it  were  yet  raging,  and  their  hatred  of  an  Eng- 
lishman they  took  a  pride  in  showing  whenever 
in  their  power.  In  every  quarrel,  domestic  or 
national,  it  will  always  be  found  that  the  con- 
queror is  the  last  to  forget,  and  generally  the  last 
to  forgive.  The  language  necessarily  used  in 
boasting  of  success  rekindles  the  fury  of  a  fire 
the  dews  of  peace  should  always  quench.  In 
England  it  had  ceased  to  be  spoken  of,  or  even 
alluded  to.  But,  it  must  be  acceded,  a  war 
there,  or  in  any  monarchical  government,  cre- 
ates very  different  feelings  (if  any  at  all)  from 
the  "one  spirit"  which  actuates  a  free  and  sov- 
ereign people,  whose  lives,  whose  fortunes,  and 
whose  sacred  honour  were  pledged  by  their  fa- 
thers to  defend  their  homes  and  liberty,  and  who 
with  one  accord  exclaim,  "  United  we  stand, 
divided  we  fall."  But  in  my  country,  such  an 
event  being  declared  against  any  power,  with  a 
large  portion  of  its  inhabitants  only  occasions  re- 
gret, or  delight,  according  to  how  much  it  may 
interfere  with  or  advance  individual  interest;, 
and  the  combatants  themselves,  hired  to  fight, 
never  care  for  what,  nor  even  inquire  the  cause 
of  quarrel,  but,  with  bulldog  courage,  seek  the 
"bubble  reputation,  even  at  the  cannon's  mouth." 

The  turning  I  had  made  from  the  grocery  was 
into  a  badly-paved,  dirty  street,  leading  up  a 
slight  ascent  from  the  river  to  Broadway,  and  at 
about  half  the  distance,  to  my  joy,  I  beheld,  over  a 
dingy-looking  cellar,  "  Exchange  Office.  Foreign 
gold  and  silver  bought  here,"  I  descended  three 
or  four  wooden  steps,  and  handed  my  handful  of 
silver  to  one  of  "God's  chosen  people,"  and,  af- 
ter its  undergoing  a  most  severe  ringing  and 
rubbing,  the  (I  have  no  doubt)  honest  Israe\ite 
handed  me  three  dirty,  ragged  one-dollar  bills, 
which,  he  said,  "  s'help  me  God  is  petter  as 
gould."  As  all  I  wanted  then  was  that  they 
should  be  better  than  silver,  my  politics  at  that 
time  didn't  cavil  at  the  currency,  and  I  hastily 
retraced  my  steps  to  the  red-shirted  herring  deal- 
er, and,  placing  one  of  the  dirty  scraps  of  paper 
on  the  counter,  I  exclaimed,  with  an  air  of  con- 
fidence, "  There,  sir,  will  that  answer  your  pur- 
pose V  He  was  nearly  of  the  Jew's  opinion,  for 
he  declared  that  it  was  "as good  as  gold,"  and  I 
gave  him  a  large  order,  and  made  my  first  meal 
in  the  United  States  seated  on  a  barrel,  in  a  grocery 
at  the  foot  of  Wall-street. 

The  best  sauce  to  meat  is  appetite,  and  my 
herrings  and  bread  and  butter  put  me  in  a  much 
better  humour  with  myself  and  even-body  else. 
From  information  gleaned  from  my  anti-English 
friend  and  his  customers,  I  was  assured  that  the 
ship  would  be  up  by  the  evening  tide,  and  anchor 
for  the  night  in  the  stream,  by  nine  or  tea 
o'clock,  and  I  engaged  an  owld  counthryman  to 
take  me  on  board.  Thus  relieved  in  mind  and 
body,  I  sallied  forth  again,  up  Wall-street  and 
through  Broadway.  The  pavement  was  horri- 
ble, and  the  sidewalks,  partly  brick  and  partly 
flagstones,  of  all  shapes,  put  together  as  nearly 
as  their  unlrimmed  forms  would  permit.  The 
Park,  which  Scovill  had  spoken  of  with  en- 
thusiasm, 1  found  to  be  about  the  size  of  Port- 
man  Square,  but  of  a  shape  defying  any  geo- 
metrical term  to  convey  the  form  of  it.     It  had 


PASSED   AMONG   THE    PLAYERS. 


57 


been  surrounded  by  a  wooden,  unpainted,  rough 
fence,  but  a  storm  on  the  first  of  September,  the 
power  of  which  we  had  felt  the  full  force  of, 
twenty  days  after,  on  the  Atlantic,  had  prostra- 
ted the  larger  portion,  together  with  some  fine 
old  buttonwood-trees,  which  either  nature  or  the 
good  taste  of  the  first  settlers  had  planted  there, 
and  the  little  grass  the  cows  and  pigs  allowed  to 
remain  was  checkered  o'er  by  the  short  cuts  to 
the  different  streets  in  its  neighbourhood.  The 
exterior  of  the  theatre  was  the  most  prison- 
like-looking place  I  had  ever  seen  appropriated 
to  such  a  purpose.  It  is  not  much  better  now  ; 
but  then  it  was  merely  rough  stone,  but  now  it's 
rough  cast,  and  can  boast  of  a  cornice.  Ob- 
serving (he  front  doors  open,  I  ventured  in,  and, 
opening  one  of  the  boxes,  endeavoured  to  take  a 
peep  at  the  interior  of  the  shrine  at  which  I  was 
either  to  be  accepted  or  sacrificed;  but,  coming 
immediately  out  of  the  daylight,  all  was  dark  as 
Erebus.  A  large  door  at  the  back  of  the  stage 
gave  me  a  glimmer  of  that  department,  and  gro- 
ping my  way  through  the  lobby,  I  felt,  at  the  ex- 
tremity, a  small  opening,  and  proceeding,  as  I 
intended,  very  cautiously,  tumbled  down  three 
or  four  steps,  and  was  picked  up  at  the  bottom 
by  some  one  in  the  dark,  who  led  me  on  the 
stage. 

"  Have  you  hurt  yourself?"  said  this  im- 
mensely tall,  raw-boned  fellow,  with  his  shirt 
sleeves  rolled  up  over  an  arm  the  same  size 
from  the  wrist  to  the  shoulder. 

"  No,"  I  replied,  "  but  I  wonder  I  didn't." 

"  Have  you  any  business  herel"  said  he. 

"No,  nothing  particular,"  said  I. 

"  Then  you  can  go  out,"  said  he,  and  he  point- 
ed to  the  opening  at  the  back. 

I  took  the  hint  and  direction,  and  found  myself 
in  an  alley  knee  deep  with  filth  the  whole  width 
of  the  theatre.  I  continued  my  walk  up  Broad- 
way, and  as  I  went  the  houses  diminished  both 
in  size  and  number,  and  in  less  than  a  mile  1  was 
in  the  country.  On  my  return,  the  theatre  doors 
were  open,  and  the  audience  already  assembling. 
Phillips,  the  singer,  was  the  "star,"  and  the  per- 
formance, "  Lionel  and  Clarrissa."  The  opera 
had  not  commenced,  but  I  took  a  seat,  with  about 
twenty  others,  in  the  second  tier.  The  house 
Avas  excessively  dark;  oil,  of  course,  then  was 
used,  in  common  brass  Liverpool  lamps,  ten  or 
twelve  of  which  were  placed  in  a  large  sheet- 
iron  hoop,  painted  green,  hanging  from  the  ceil- 
ing in  the  centre,  and  one,  half  the  size,  on  each 
side  of  the  stage.  The  fronts  of  the  boxes  were 
decorated,  if  it  could  be  so  called,  with  one  con- 
tinuous American  ensign,  a  splendid  subject, 
and  very  difficult  to  handle  properly,  but  this 
was  designed  in  the  taste  of  an  upholsterer,  and 
executed  without  any  taste  at  all ;  the  seats  were 
covered  with  green  baize,  and  the  back  of  the 
boxes  with  whitewash,  and  the  iron  columns 
which  supported  them  covered  with  burnished 
gold!  and  looking  as  if  they  had  no  business 
there,  but  had  made  their  escape  from  the  Co- 
burg.  The  audience  came  evidently  to  see  the 
play,  and  be  pleased,  if  they  possibly  could,  with 
everything;  the  men,  generally,  wore  their  hats; 
at  all  events,  they  consulted  only  their  own  opin- 
ion and  comfort  in  the  matter;  and  the  ladies,  I 
observed,  very  sensibly  all  came  in  bonnets,  but 
usually  dispossessed  themselves  of  them,  and 
tied  them,  in  large  bunches,  high  up  to  the  gold 
columns;  and  as  there  is  nothing  a  woman  can 
touch  that  she  does  not  instinctively  adorn,  the 
varied  colours  of  the  ribands  and  materials  of 


which  they  were  made,  were  in  my  opinion  a 
vast  improvement  to  the  unfurnished  appearance 
of  the  house. 

Phillips  as  Lionel,  and  Mrs.  Holman  as  Clar- 
rissa, shared  equally  the  approbation  of  the 
audience:  the  current  of  whose  simple,  unso- 
phisticated taste  had  not  then  been  turned  awry 
by  fashion,  obliging  them  to  profess  an  admira- 
tion of  the  enormities  of  the  German  and  Italian 
school,  which,  in  these  days  of  humbug  and  re- 
finement, they  alone  pretend  to  listen  to.  Simp- 
son was  the  Jessatny.  As  it  happened,  'twas  one 
of  Jones's  very  good  parts.  The  audience  ap- 
peared to  back  Price's  opinion,  judging  from  the 
applause,  but,  for  my  own  part,  /  was  of  a  very 
different  way  of  thinking.  Barnes  was  Colonel 
Oldboy :  in  vulgar  old  men,  such  as  Delph  or 
Lord  Duberly,  he  was  excellent;  but,  though 
Oldboy  is  extremely  coarse  in  his  language,  he 
is  still  a  gentleman  of  that  school,  and,  therefore, 
a  character  out  of  Barnes's  direct  line.  It  was 
either  the  very  first  or  second  appearance  of  my 
friend  Peteriilichings,  one  of  the  best  general 
actors  now  on  the  continent;  he  was  the  Mr. 
Harman,  and  I  honestly  believe  he  was  even 
more  stupid  than  1  was  at  the  same  point  of  ex- 
perience. But  for  the  friendly  interference  of 
the  amiable  Miss  Johnston,  through  his  embar- 
rassment he  would  inevitably  have  been  shut 
outside  the  drop  at  the  finale  to  the  first  act,  and 
his  narrow  escape  seemed  greatly  to  add  to  the 
amusement  of  the  good-tempered  audience. 

Fully  satisfied  that  1  had  nothing  to  fear, 
judging  by  the  way  the  portion  of  the  perform- 
ance I  had  witnessed  that  evening  had  been  ap- 
proved of,  I  set  off  in  good  spirits  to  my  appoint- 
ment at  the  foot  of  Wall-street.  The  night  was 
very  dark,  not  a  lamp  was  to  be  seen,  save  a 
twinkle  from  a  little  light  through  the  closed 
glass  door  of  a  solitary  chemist's  shop,  in  the 
whole  distance;  'twas  about  eight  o'clock,  and 
every  store  was  shut ;  nor  did  I  meet  more  than 
thirty  persons  during  my  walk.  Look  at  Broad- 
way and  Wall-street  now !  I  found  my  Irish 
Charon  true  to  his  appointment,  but  the  ship  was 
not  expected  for  two  hours  at  least.  I  inquired  of 
mine  host  if  I  should  be  an  intruder  by  remaining 
in  his  shop,  and  being  answered  in  the  negative, 
I  ordered  some  more  bread  and  butter,  and  a  her- 
ring "to  close  the  orifice  of  the  stomach,"  and 
took  my  old  seat  on  a  barrel  of  pickled  shad,  as 
it  proved  to  be;  for,  after  a  while,  the  head  slip- 
ped in,  and  so  did  the  tail  of  my  new  black  coat, 
which  I  had  had  made  out  of  respect  to  the 
memory  of  poor  Queen  Caroline.  To  make  my- 
self as  amiable  as  possible  in  the  estimation  of 
four  or  five  gentlemen,  short  of  shirt  and  long 
in  beard,  who  may  frequently  be  found  in  such 
places,  I  treated,  "  like  a  man,"  to  two  or  three 
rounds  of  grog  and  cigars.  I  was  then  no  con- 
noisseur in  the  latter  article,  having  never  smo- 
ked tobacco  in  any  shape  in  my  life ;  but  to  act 
up  to  the  pure  agrarian  principles  I  professed,  I 
undertook  a  "long  nine"  and  a  couple  of  glasses 
of  "excellent  brandy,"  as  old  red  shirt  said.  On 
the  passage  I  had  never  even  tasted  wine  or 
spirits,  though  those  luxuries  were  included  in 
the  thirty-five  guineas  apiece  cabin  fare.  So  illy 
prepared,  the  "  long  nine"  soon  knocked  me  over 
as  flat  as  a  nine-pounder :  I  was  sick; 

"The  dews  of  death 
Hung  clammy  on  my  forehead,  like  the  damps 
Of  midnight  sepulchres." 

I  was  perfectly  in  my  senses,  but  was  incapa- 
ble of  sound  or  motion,  or,  I  should  more  proper- 


58 


THIRTY    YEARS 


ly  say,  voice  or  action.  In  these  days  the  march 
of  improvement  in  such  matters,  would  have 
doomed  me  to  the  certainty  of  having  my  throat 
cut,  then  stripped,  and  thrown  into  the  dock; 
and  the  next  dav  a  coroner's  inquest  would  have 
quietly  brought  in  a  verdict  of  "fowid  drowned," 
and  no  more  would  be  said  about  the  matter. 
But  at  the  untutored  period  I  speak  of,  they  were 
content  to  take  only  my  movables,  id  est,  my  hat. 
cravat,  watch,  snuffbox,  handkerchief,  and  the 
balance  of  the  dirty  dollars.  My  incapacity  to 
make  resistance  saved  my  coat,  for  I  was  so  lim- 
ber they  couldn't  get  it  off  whole,  and  after,  in 
their  endeavours,  splitting  it  down  the  back,  and 
the  tail  being  in  a  precious  pickle,  they  con- 
cluded it  would  be  more  honourable  to  let  me 
keep  it — carried  me  down  to  a  boat,  rowed  me 
off  to  the  ship,  and  delivered  me  to  Old  Bunker, 
as  "a  gentleman  very  unwell." 

This  is  "  a  full,  true,  and  particular  account"  of 
my  manner  of  passing  one  day  out  of  upward  of 
Eight  Thousand  I've  seen  in  the  United  States. 


CHAPTER  II. 

•"  My  name  is  Pestilence  :  hither  and  thither 
I  nit  about,  that  I  may  slay  and  smother  ; 
All  lips  which  I  have  kissed  must  surely  wither, 
But  Death's — if  thou  art  he,  we'll  work  together." 

Revolt  of  Islam. 

The  next  day  the  ship  got  into  her  berth  long 
before  I  got  out  of  mine,  and  it  was  nearly  sun- 
down when  we  drove  to  our  new  abode  at  the 
corner  of  Greenwich  and  Dey  streets.  Price 
bad  selected  a  boarding-house  kept  by  an  Eng- 
lish widow,  considerately  thinking  our  tastes 
would  be  better  understood  by  a  countrywoman 
of  our  own.  It  is  too  late  in  the  day  to  give  ad- 
vice on  this  subject;  but  I  soon  learned  that  in 
any  dealings  in  which  an  English  man  or  woman 
should  properly  be  the  subordinate  party,  to  avoid 
them  as  I  would  a  pestilence.  Intoxicated  with 
the  supposed  sudden  possession  of  what  is  called 
■liberty  and.  equality,  they  mistake  "  impudence  for 
independence."  To  use  a  homely  phrase,  "They 
don't  know  which  way  their  'ed  'angs,"  and  their 
unbridled  ignorance,  as  well  as  being  inconve- 
nient, has  often  made  me  blush  lor  my  country. 

This  lady  had  been  a  lady's  maid  according 
to  her  own  account,  and,  to  use  her  idiom,  "  Had 
■moved  in  the  first  society,  till  left  by  her  dear  hus- 
band, who  was  gone  to  Abraham's  bosom,  to  keep  a 
boarding-house .'"  She  had  two  very  genteel  young 
women  for  daughters,  who,  in  London,  might 
have  got  a  living  by  clear-starching  and  stitch- 
ing ;  here,  the  foolish  mother  prided  herself  upon 
"their  not  being  able  to  do  anything  at  all." 

It  was  a  large  house,  the  lower  story  occupied 
as  an  extensive  grocery.  The  private  entrance 
was  carpeted  all  over,  and  crowded  with  house- 
hold furniture;  some  of  it  appeared  as  if  it  had 
no  business  there,  but  I  soon  found  out  it  was 
all  the  fashion  ;  for  example,  there  were  two  di- 
ning tables,  one  with  mahogany  leaves  down  to 
its  ankles,  very  much  in  the  way,  against  the 
wall,  and  another  more  so,  making  believe  to 
get  out  of  it,  by  being  turned  up  on  its  tripod 
leg  behind  the  street  door. 

There  were  two  well-appointed  parlours,  one 
for  dining  and  the  other  for  sitting,  with  sofas, 
mirrors,  and  a  pianoforte,  upon  which,  I  was  de- 
lighted to  hear,  the  ladies  couldn't  play.  The 
ajiartment  allotted  for  the  use  of  myself  and  Mrs. 


Cowell  was  all  over  the  store  and  the  two  par- 
lours into  the  bargain;  a  sort  of  sized  room  that 
any  strolling  company  in  England  would  be  de- 
lighted to  meet  with,  in  the  event  of  not  being 
able  to  procure  the  Town  Hall.  There  were 
eight  large  windows — three  on  one  side  and  five 
on  the  other;  a  little  fireplace  in  one  corner,  with 
four  bricks,  instead  of  andirons,  supporting  two 
or  three  sticks  of  green  wood,  hissing  and  boil- 
ing to  death,  and  making  water  instead  of  fire 
all  over  the  hearth  ;  a  bedstead,  without  posts  or 
curtains;  four  chairs,  about  twelve  feet  apart, 
by  way  of  making  the  most  of  them,  and  a  piece 
of  ragged  carpet,  about  the  same  portable  size  of 
those  used  for  little  spangled  children  to  dislo- 
cate their  bodies  on,  to  a  tune  on  the  tambarine, 
about  the  streets  of  London.  After  starving  with 
cold  and  hunger,  and  taking  lessons  in  the  Cock- 
ney dialect,  whether  I  liked  it  or  not,  for  two 
weeks,  I  moved  to  a  plain,  honest  Yankee  wom- 
an's—  Mrs.  Gantley  —  where  I  remained  till  I 
could  procure  a  house. 

There  is  still  a  remnant  of  the  custom,  but 
then  it  was  universal,  for  all  classes  of  citizens, 
tradesmen  or  otherwise,  no  matter  how  advan- 
tageously they  were  situated  for  either  business 
or  comfort,  to  change  their  abode  on  the  first  of 
May.  From  that  date  all  houses  and  stores 
were  rented  for  one  year;  and  the  hurry,  bustle, 
turmoil,  and  confusion  into  which  that  day  threw 
the  whole  population  of  New- York,  from  the 
highest  to  the  lowest,  cannot  be  conceived;  it 
could  be  compared  with  nothing  but  itself.  A 
town  besieged,  or  a  general  conflagration,  would 
fail  to  convey  an  idea  of  the  ridiculous  effect  of 
an  immense  mass  of  men,  women,  and  children, 
loaded  with  articles  of  household  utility  or  orna- 
ment, taking  shelter,  with  much  seeming  anx- 
iety, in  some  abode,  from  which  another  party, 
loaded  in  the  same  manner,  were  making  their 
escape.  The  streets  crowded  with  carts,  wag- 
ons, and  carriages  of  every  denomination — en- 
gaged, perhaps,  three  months  before — teeming 
over  with  chairs  and  tables,  in  the  hurry,  appa- 
rently, packed  on  purpose  to  tumble  off,  to  the 
great  delight  of  the  cabinet-makers  and  others, 
who  took  no  interest  in  the  matter  beyond  the 
mischief.  No  better  proof  of  the  national  for- 
bearance, and  government  of  temper  natural  to 
the  Americans,  than  such  a  trial  of  patience  as 
this  could  possibly  be  invented ;  and  yet  even 
the  demolition  of  a  favourite  basket  of  china,  or 
a  dray  carrying  a  load  of  furniture  nobody  could 
find  out  where;  or  the  porter's  placing  a  ponder- 
ous piece  of  furniture  in  the  fourth  story  of  Nc. 
80,  when  it  was  expected  in  the  front  parlour  of 
No.  1,  were  causes  for  merriment,  especially  to 
those  who  had  the  right  to  be  annoyed ;  and,  with 
the  exception  of  some  disputed  points  of  etiquette 
among  the  Irish  carmen,  the  whole  day's  ,:toi 
and  trouble" — for 

"  My  business  in  this  state 
Made  me  a  looker-on  here  in  Vienna" — 

appeared  to  be  considered  an  excellent  frolic. 

Simpson  I  found  to  be  a  blunt,  plain  man, 
who  welcomed  me  without  either  warmth  or 
ceremony ;  he  hadn't  a  morning-gown,  but  the 
most  amiable  expression  of  countenance  I  think 
I  ever  beheld.  For  the  convenience  of  the  the- 
atre, I  was  to  appear  in  L'Clair,  in  the  "Found- 
ling of  the  Forest ;"  and  Crack,  in  the  "  Turn- 
pike Gate,"  was  suggested,  or,  rather,  insisted 
upon  by  Price  as  the  farce ;  for,  having  formed 
a  "  Gil  Bias"  opinion  of  my  talent,  he  was  de- 


PASSED   AMONG    THE    PLAYERS. 


59 


termined  to  be  satisfied  at  once  if  I  was  equal  to 
what  my  friends  in  London  had  represented. 
Barnes  was  a  great  favourite  in  that  character, 
and  him,  I  found,  I  was  expressly  engaged  to 
supplant  in  the  favour  of  the  audience. 

1  was  merely  underlined  "from  Drury  Lane/' 
my  "first  appearance  in  America,"  on  one  of 
Phillips's  off-nights,  and,  in  consequence,  the 
house  was  very  little  better  than  it  probably 
would  have  been  without  my  playing  at  all.  My 
reception  was  kind  in  the  extreme;  and  at  the 
end  of  the  first  piece,  Price  came  round  and  paid 
me  some  very  high  compliments.  Simpson  said 
some  civil  things ;  but  i  could  plainly  see  peep- 
ing through  them  that  he  thought  me  "  very  dear 
for  the  money."  I  was  then  only  twenty-nine 
years  of  age,  and  the  contrast  between  the  young 
soldier  and  Crack  was  very  great ;  and  my  ap- 
pearance, when  disguised  for  the  latter  part,  I 
suppose,  gave  hope  to  the  junior  partner,  from 
his  altered  manner,  that  I  might  be  worth  my 
salary.  Old  Kent  and  Simpson  had  been  to- 
gether in  the  Dublin  theatre.  I  had  never  seen 
Kent  play,  but  I  found  great  expectations  were 
formed  of  his  making  a  hit.  He  had  selected 
Sir  Anthony  Absolute  and  Looney  M'Twolter, 
"to  astonish  the  natives  in,"  and,  without  any 
consultation  of  my  taste  on  the  subject,  I,  of 
course,  was  cast  Acres  and  Caleb  Gluotem.  His 
next  night  was  to  be  the  "  Road  to  Ruin,"  for  the 
sake  of  his  Old  Dornton — I  to  play  Goldfinch — 
and  to  show  his  versatility,  he  was  to  sing  Bel- 
ville,  in  "  Rosina,"  and  I  to  play  the  pretty  part  of 
William.  To  all  this  I  had  no  right  or  cause  to 
make  the  least  objection;  but  the  first  act  of  the 
u  Turnpike  Gate"  changed  the  state  of  affairs. 
Captain  Marshal],  whenever  it  didn't  blow, 
would  blow  the  flute,  exclusively  to  please  him- 
self— 

"  How  sour  sweet  music  is  when  time  is  broke  and  no  pro- 
portion kept !" 

and  two  tunes,  which  I  couldn't  discover  to  be 
at  all  like  any  air  I  had  ever  heard  before,  I 
found  were  great  favourites  with  my  friend,  and 
these,  I  was  informed,  were  "  Yankee  Doodle" 
and  "  Hail  Columbia  ;"  and  unexpectedly  intro- 
ducing these  then  unhackneyed  tunes  in  a  song 
1  manufactured  for  the  occasion,  produced  a 
great  effect,  and  my  success  altogether  was  im- 
mense. 

"Simp-son,"  said  Price,  hobbling  down  the 
same  steps  1  had  tumbled,  "look  here;  as  to 
playing  the  '  Review'  on  Thursday  night  is  all 
d —  nonsense ;  the  farce  will  be  this  Crack-thing. 
Cowell,"  giving  me  a  hearty  shake  of  the  hand, 
"you've  made  the  greatest  hit,  sir,  that  ever  was 
made  in  Ameri-ca.  Look  here,  Neddy,  what's 
the  play  o'  Thursday'?" 

"  The  '  Rivals,' "  said  Simpson. 

"  Well,  here,  Cowell,"  said  Price,  "  if  you 
don't  like  that  part  of  Acres,  say  so,  and  you  can 
play  whatever  you  choose." 

"  I  have  already  said  so  to  Mr.  Cowell,"  said 
Simpson ;  "  but  he  assures  me  'tis  a  favourite 
character." 

And  so  he  had,  and,  like  a  sensible  man,  he 
paid  me  all  the  attention  the  good  opinion  I  had 
earned  deserved.  I  became  at  once  a  decided 
favourite  with  the  audience;  and  that  enviable 
position,  I  am  proud  to  say,  I  have  maintained, 
in  all  the  principal  cities  of  the  Union,  up  to  the 
present  hour.  At  the  termination  of  the  per- 
formance I  was  introduced  to  some  half  dozen 
critics  and  admirers  of  the  drama,  among  them 


M.  M.  Noah,  then  the  high-sheriff,  who  has  ever 
since,  when  in  his  power,  shown  me  great  kind- 
ness and  attention.  That  night  I  felt  a  triumph- 
ant, self-satisfied  sensation,  I  never  experienced  be- 
fore nor  since. 

Simpson  had  only  been  married  a  short  time, 
and,  like  myself  and  others,  was  waiting  till  the 
first  of  May  to  go  into  housekeeping;  but  he 
gave  a  very  handsome  dinner,  on  Sunday,  at  his 
boarding-house,  kept  by  the  widow  of  George 
Frederic  Cooke,  where  I  met  Price's  two  broth- 
ers, William  and  Edward,  Noah,  Jarvis,  the  cel- 
ebrated painter,  and  most  eccentric  character, 
and  a  large  party  of  gentlemen.  Simpson,  true 
to  Price's  description,  was  the  most  industrious 
man  I  ever  knew;  he  generally  played  in  every 
piece  that  there  was  any  necessity  for  his  appear- 
ing in,  whether  in  his  line  or  not,  greatly  to  his 
own  disadvantage,  for  in  a  certain  range  of 
characters  he  was  excellent.  For  six  days  in 
the  week  he  was  scarcely  out  of  the  theatre ;  but 
on  Sunday,  it  must,  be  a  very  urgent  point  of 
business  that  would  induce  him  even  to  write  a 
letter.  He  seldom  visited,  but  generally  gave  a 
dinner  to  a  choice  circle  of  friends;  and  it  was 
some  engagement,  more  for  policy  than  taste, 
which  prevented  my  being  his  guest  on  those 
occasions  while  I  remained  in  New-York.  At 
the  end  of  some  twelve  nights  1  had  a  benefit, 
the  profits  arising  from  which  I  had  sold  to  Price 
for  our  passages,  which  it  considerably  exceed- 
ed, and  he  generously  offered  me  the  overplus  ; 
but  I,  like  John  Astley,  stuck  to  my  bargain, 
whether  good  or  bad. 

I  was  now  strongly  urged  by  Simpson  and 
Price  to  go  to  Boston  for  two  weeks,  and  receive 
half  the  proceeds  of  an  engagement  there ;  but  • 
to  this  no  persuasion  could  induce  me  to  con- 
sent. My  argument  was,  that  as  I  had  never 
achieved" the  position  of  a  "star"  in  my  own 
country,  I  would  not  subject  myself  to  ridicule 
in  attempting  to  shine  out  of  my  sphere  in  this. 
My  foolish  modesty  on  this  point,  if  it  might  so 
be  called,  has  been  amply  compensated  for  by 
the  host  of  impostors  who  have  yearly  scoured 
the  country  since,  till  they  have  drained  it  dry 
as  hay;  with  nothing  under  heaven  to  recom- 
mend them  but  an  announcement  from  one  of 
the  London  theatres,  and  T.  R.  C.  G.  or  T.  R. 
D.  L.,  in  gilt  or  conspicuous  letters,  on  every 
book  or  manuscript  they  have  an  opportunity 
to  place  upon  a  prompt-table.  The  managers, 
secure  in  a  profit,  aid  the  imposition;  they  de- 
mand their  charges,  and,  should  the  he  or  she 
humbug  prove  too  gross,  even  for  the  indulgence 
of  the  most  indulgent  audience  in  the  world,  no 
blame  can  attach  to  them  for  introducing  novel- 
ty so  highly  self-recommended.  The  theatres 
being  numerous  and  "far  between,"  if  some 
well-paid-for  puffs  succeed  in  exciting  curiosity 
for  a  night  or  two,  they  travel  round  the  Conti- 
nent, and  escape  to  Europe  before  they  are  fair- 
ly found  out ;  often  with  a  well-lined  purse,  as 
proof  of  the  easy  gullibility  of  the  hospitable 
Americans,  and  send  "  his  fellow  of  the  self- 
same flight  the  self-same  way." 

Some  years  since,  in  travelling  down  the  Mis- 
sissippi, a  Swiss  or  German  steerage-passenger 
made  himself  conspicuous  by  singing  all  man- 
ner of  outlandish  songs  an  octave  above  com- 
mon sense  —  a  squeaking  falsetto,  resembling 
the  excruciating  appeals  to  humanity  a  pig 
makes  while  having  his  nose  bored,  or  under- 
going other  necessary  or  ornamental  surgical 
operations  —  and  collecting,  by  this  unnatural 


60 


THIRTY    YEARS 


exertion  of  the  lungs,  divers  bits  and  picayunes 
from  the  deck-hands  and  other  admirers  of  "  mu- 
sic out  of  tune,  and  harsh ;"  and,  a  few  days  af- 
ter my  arrival  at  New-Orleans,  Caldwell  under- 
lined "  Signer  Carl  Maria  Von  Bliss,  from  the 
Royal  Academy  of  Music  at  Vienna!"  or  some- 
where ;  and,  to  my  astonishment,  it  proved  to  be 
this  yelling  German,  who  had  put  my  ear  out 
of  joint,  and  helped  to  wood  the  boat  on  the  pas- 
sage down.  Of  course,  this  was  too  much  of  a 
joke ;  but  the  warm-hearted  Southerners,  find- 
ing the  fellow  was  in  poverty,  made  him  an  ex- 
cellent benefit,  though  they  couldn't  endure  his 
music. 

Cooper  succeeded  Phillips,  then  the  theatrical 
god  of  America;  and  he  behaved  like  a  most 
disagreeable  one  to  all  the  mortals  beneath  him. 
He  was  to  open  in  Macbeth;  the  rehearsal  was 
called  at  ten  o'clock;  Mrs.  Wheatley,  Barnes, 
and  myself  were  the  Witches  ;  we  went  through 
our  first  scene,  and  so  far  in  the  second  as  Mae- 
beth's  entrance ;  he  had  been  on  the  stage  an  in- 
stant before  he  was  wanted,  but  then  he  was 
missing. 

"Call  Mr.  Cooper!"  says  Simpson. 

"  He's  gone  in  the  front!"  says  the  boy. 

"Go  lor  him,  sir!"  said  Simpson. 

Mrs.  Wheatley,  Old  Jack,  and  myself  told,  or 
listened  in  turn,  to  two  or  three  excellent  jokes 
before  Cooper  arrived.  Then  he  gave  long  and 
particular  directions  to  Anderson,  the  prompter, 
as  to  the  exact  time  of  the  commencing  of  the 
march,  and  the  exact  time  of  its  leaving  off,  and 
had  just  got  as  far  in  the  dialogue  as  to  inquire, 

"  What  ar-re  these," 

when  the  thought  occurred  that  we  should  look 
better,  or  he  could  act  better,  if  he  had  a  witch  at 
each  entrance.  He  appealed  to  Simpson,  who 
grumbled  out  something,  and  the  Fusdli  groupe 
was  desired  to  take  open  order,  and  Mrs.  Wheat- 
ley  went  half  up  the  stage.  This  wouldn't  do, 
unless  the  meeting  was  supposed  to  be  with 
three  old  women,  in  lifferent  streets ;  and  the 
word  was  given,  "  As  you  were !"  and  'twas 
finally  agreed  that  Barnes  and  I  should  stand  at 
the  first  entrance,  and  Mrs.  Wheatley  close  to 
the  wing  at  the  second.  The  manner  of  direct- 
ing these  alterations  and  improvements,  and  the 
time  occupied  in  making  them,  put  my  patience 
to  a  severe  test;  and  at  this  critical  juncture  a 
boy  entered,  and  delivered  him  a  note,  and  he 
coolly  sat  down  to  the  table  to  answer  it.  This 
was  the  climax;  and,  leading  Mrs.  Wheatley 
off  the  stage,  I  said,  with  much  temper, 

"Mr.  Simpson,  I  can  put  up  with  this  rude- 
ness no  longer;  I'm  going  home!" 

Simpson,  whose  endurance  was  the  wonder 
of  everybody,  followed  me  off  the  stage: 

"Oh!  nonsense,  Joe!  nonsense!  come  back! 
it's  only  his  way." 

"D —  his  way!"  said  I;  and  home  I  went. 

At  night  Barnes  explained  to  me  the  altera- 
tions which  had  been  made  in  the  usual  busi- 
ness, but  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  play  the 
part  exactly  as  I  had  done  it  with  Kean,  at  Dru- 
ry  Lane,  with  Munden  and  Knight  as  my  allies, 
right  or  wrong;  and  when  Barnes  and  Mrs. 
Wheatley  were  stirring  the  boiling  gruel  at  the 
back  of  the  stage,  I  was  very  coolly  standing  in 
the  comer.  I  couldn't  but  admire  the  man's 
splendid  talent;  and  he  had  administered  to  my 
vanity  by  waiting  every  night  to  see  my  farce, 
and  making  it  part  of  his  bargain,  as  he  receiv- 
ed a  per  centage,  that  I  should  appear  on  his 


nights ;  but  I  looked  upon  him  as  a  brute,  not- 
withstanding; and  he  never  spoke  to  me,  nor  I 
to  him.  One  night,  while  he  was  performing 
Virginius,  I  was  seated  on  a  sofa,  placed  under 
a  large  glass,  in  the  green-room,  when  he  came 
in  to  adjust  his  toga.  I  moved  my  head  out  of 
his  way,  and  not  my  person  ;  he  came  close  up 
to  the  glass,  and  then  stooped  his  head  within 
six  inches  of  mine,  and  stared  me  straight  in  the 
face,  and  I  said,  "  Booh  !"  He  looked  perfectly 
astonished,  and  walked  out  amid  a  hearty  laugh 
from  the  ladies,  for  I  was  an  excellent  clown  in 
their  estimation.  A  day  or  two  after  he  address- 
ed me  behind  the  scenes  with, 

"  Mr.  Cowell,  no  one  has  been  civil  enough 
to  introduce  me  to  you,  therefore  I'm  compelled 
to  do  it  myself!"  and,  after  paying  me  some 
very  handsome  compliments,  ended  with  invi- 
ting me  to  dine  with  him;  and  we  have  been 
very  intimate  ever  since;  nor  do  I  know,  in  my 
large  list  of  acquaintances,  a  more  agreeable 
companion  than  Thomas  Cooper.  During  my 
residence  in  the  Northern  States,  I  was  a  fre- 
quent guest,  for  a  day  or  two  at  a  time,  at  his 
delightful  cottage,  at  Bristol,  Pennsylvania  , 
where  the  luxuries  attendant  Upon  affluence 
were  so  regulated  by  good  taste,  that  Cooper 
never  appeared  to  such  advantage  as  when  at 
home.  His  family  was  numerous,  and  very  in- 
teresting. He  used  to  boast  of  never  allowing 
his  children  to  cry. 

"  Sir,  when  my  children  were  young,  and  be- 
gan to  cry,  I  always  dashed  a  glass  of  water  in 
their  face,  and  that  so  astonished  them  that  they 
would  leave  off;  and  if  they  began  again.  I'd 
dash  another,  and  keep  on  increasing  the  dose 
till  they  were  entirely  cured." 

His  second  daughter,  Priscilla,  who  is  marri- 
ed to  the  son  of  John  Tyler,  the  present  Presi- 
dent of  the  United  States,  is  perhaps  indebted 
to  some  of  her  father's  lessons  lor  that  affable, 
yet  dignified  deportment  which  commands  the 
admiration  of  all  parties. 

The  Park  company  was  not  extensive,  but 
very  useful,  consisting  of 

Messrs.  Simpson,  Barnes,  Pritchard,  Ritch- 
ings,  Phillips,  Nixon,  Anderson,  Reed,  Banker, 
Mayvvood,  and  myself.  Mesdames  Wheatley, 
Barnes,  Holman,  Barrett;  Miss  Johnson,  Jones, 
Brundage,  and  Bland. 

If  there  were  more,  I  have  forgotten  them.  Of 
course,  we  all  had  to  play  nearly  every  night, 
and  I  never  escaped.  Gillingham  was  the 
leader;  a  good-tempered,  eccentric  fellow,  with 
an  odd  kind  of  nervous  affection,  which  made 
him  appear  as  if  he  was  continually  endeavour- 
ing to  bite  his  own  ear;  this  singularity  was 
most  conspicuous  when  he  was  under  the  influ- 
ence of  liquor,  which  was  very  frequently  the 
case;  and  one  night,  while  accompanying  one 
of  my  songs,  he  made  a  more  than  usual  ener- 
getic snap  over  his  shoulder,  lost  his  balance, 
and  fell  into  the  orchestra,  carrying  with  him 
the  second  violin,  his  own  stool,  and  a  music- 
stand,  to  the  great  amusement  of  the  audience. 
He  was,  strange  to  say,  as  fond  of  eating  as  he 
was  of  drinking,  and,  when  searching  for  a  lodg- 
ing, his  first  inquiry  would  be,  "Madam,  have 
you  a  gridiron  1"  and  if  the  answer  was  "  Yes," 
the  kind  of  rooms,  or  the  price  of  them,  was  a 
secondary  consideration  ;  but  if  "No,"  he  turn- 
ed on  his  heel  and  vanished  without  another 
word.  This  efficient  conductor,  with  six  or 
eight  other  professors,  formed  a  very  wretched  or- 
chestra, but  then  even  so  many,  and  of  such  a 


PASSED   AMONG   THE   PLAYERS. 


61 


quality,  could  only  be  obtained  at  a  very  high 
price;  they  never  came  to  rehearsal  but  on  very 
particular  occasions,  and  even  then  they  were 
paid  extra,  and  all  the  music  in  the  performance 
was  gone  through,  one  piece  alter  another,  and 
an  hour  selected  the  least  likely  to  interfere  with 
their  teaching,  or  other   out- door  avocations. 
Times  are  sadly  changed.     I  wonder  how  many 
good  musicians  there  are  at  this  day  out  of  em- 
ployment 1     I  know  fifty  at  least.     Robbins  was 
the  principal  artist,  and  also  played  the  double 
bass ;  he  always  came  to  rehearsal,  for  he'd  do 
anything  rather  than  paint.     H.  Reinagle,  Ev- 
ers,  and  H.  lsherwood,  an  apprentice  to  Robbins, 
completed  this  department,  and  among   them 
they  would  perpetrate  two  scenes  in  a  month. 
By  a  law,  of  their  own  making,  I  suppose,  they 
only  made  believe  to  work  from  ten  o'clock  in 
the  morning  till  four  in  the  afternoon.    In  short, 
at  the  period  I  speak  of,  perlbrmers,  and  others 
employed  in  a  theatre,  couldn't  be  obtained;  nor 
were  there  a  sufficient  number  of  American  actors 
on  the  whole  continent  to  form  a  company :  for- 
tunately for  the  young  population  of  that  day, 
they  had  something  better  to  do.     Out  of  the 
members  I  have  named  at  the  Park,  all  were 
English  with  the  exception  of  Reed,  Woodhull, 
Phillips,  Banker,  and  Nixon.     Woodhull  had 
considerable  talent,  though  he  contented  himself 
with  being  an  imitator  of  Pritchard,  and  natu- 
rally so  like  him  that  a  stranger  could  scarcely 
tell  the  difference.     He  died  soon  after  he  had 
formed  a  style  of  his  own  and  began  to  be  es- 
teemed a  good  actor.     Phillips  was  an  uncle  to 
Noah — I  don't  mean  "the  ancient  mariner,"  but 
the  editor — and  through  his  influence,  perhaps 
to  aid  his  own  talent,  he  was  engaged  to  play 
walking  gentlemen,  but  was  anything  but  inter- 
esting in  his  appearance ;  if  a  profile  of  his  per- 
son had  been  taken  in  black,  you  couldn't  have 
told  the  difference  between  it  and  the  shadow  of 
a  boy's  top  with  two  pegs.     He  very  prudently 
took  to  playing  old  men,  and,  in  a  secondary 
line,  became  very  respectable.     Poor  Banker 
didn't  live  long  enough  to  "come  to  judgment;" 
and  Nixon  delivered  messages  then,  and  was 
still  explaining  that  "the  carriage  waits"  when 
I  last  saw  him.    All  the  females  worth  speaking 
of  were   English,  with  the  exception  of  Mrs. 
Wheatley,  and  she,  I  believe,  is  a  native  of 
New- York,  and  a  much  better  actress,  in  my 
opinion,  than  all  of  them  put  together,  without 
in  the  least  degree  intending  to  speak  slightingly 
of  the  acknowledged  talent  of  the  other  ladies. 
When  I  joined  the  company,  Mrs.  Barrett,  the 
mother  of  George,  played  the  old  women.     She 
was  a  very  ladylike  creature,  excessively  tall, 
and  in  her  day,  no  doubt,  had  been  very  good- 
looking,  and   greatly   esteemed    in    the   higher 
walks  of  the  drama,  but  brought  with  her  for  the 
task  she  then  undertook  nothing  but  her  appro- 
priate age  and  knowledge  of  the  profession. 

Light  comedy  men  and  interesting  ladies, 
when  they  get  into  years,  as  a  last  resource  un- 
dertake to  play  old  men  and  women :  this  is  a 
great  affliction  to  the  audience,  and  to  those  who 
have  to  perform  with  them;  memory,  hearing, 
and  seeing,  all  impaired ;  the  recollection  of  what 
they  have  been  distressing  themselves,  and  what 
they  are  everybody  else.  Acting  is  —  acting; 
and  a  young  woman  of  eighteen  or  twenty  is  just 
as  capable,  or  more  so,  of  playing  Mrs.  Mala- 
prop,  or  the  Duenna,  than  an  old  lady  of  forty-five 
is  to  play  Juliet,  or  Sophia  in  the  Road  to  Ruin ; 
and  yet  those  latter  characters  are  often  so  rep- 


resented. Few  pretty  women  will  sacrifice  their 
love  of  admiration,  and  consent  to  be 

"  An  angel  of  lore  in  the  morning, 
And  then  an  old  woman  at  night." 

But  Mrs.  Wheatley  was  an  exception  to  the  gen- 
eral prejudice,  and  whenever  there  was  an  ap- 
propriate part  in  a  new  piece  in  which  I  was  in- 
terested that  Mrs.  Wheatley  could  with  propri- 
ety be  cast,  I  used  to  urge  all  my  power  with 
Mr.  Simpson  to  have  her  in  the  character ;  and 
I  boldly  assert,  that  had  she  had  the  good  luck 
to  have  commenced  her  career  in  London  at 
that  same  period,  she  would  have  established  a 
distinct  path  in  the  intricate  maze  of  the  drama, 
where  alone  nature,  leading  truth,  and  exquisite 
humour  would  have  ever  dared  to  follow. 

The  season  terminated  on  the  fourth  of  July, 
to  commence  again  on  the  first  of  September. 

Rather  as  an  acknowledgment  than  a  return 
for  the  many  acts  of  kindness  I  had  received 
from  both  Price  and  Simpson,  I  undertook  to 
decorate  the  theatre  gratuitously.  Henry  lsher- 
wood I  selected  for  my  assistant,  a  lad  of  great 
promise  as  an  artist;  but  the  little  that  Robbins 
was  able  to  teach  him  he  had  neglected  to  impart, 
and  his  after  success  in  his  profession  I  have 
been  much  flattered  by  his  attributing  to  my  en- 
couragement and  instruction.  Glass  chande- 
liers were  purchased  to  supply  the  place  of  the 
iron  hoops  ;  the  procenium  was  arched  and  rais- 
ed; no  expense  was  spared  for  material;  and, 
dressed  in  gray  and  gold,  the  next  season  the 
"  Park"  assumed  the  responsible  appearance  it 
has  maintained  ever  since.  Price  went  to  Eng- 
land lor  recruits,  and  Simpson  and  the  larger 
portion  of  the  company  into  the  country, 

"  To  keep  the  flame  from  wasting  by  repose." 

The  season  was  unusually  warm,  and  about 
the  middle  of  August  great  alarm  was  created 
by  some  cases  of  yellow  fever  occurring  in  the 
northern  part  of  the  city.  In  a  day  or  two  the 
contagion  crossed  Broadway,  and  a  death  be- 
ing reported  at  the  Custom- House,  in  Wall- 
street,  the  panic  became  universal  and  frightful- 
ly ridiculous.  The  whole  population  in  that 
section  of  the  city  who  were  well  or  able,  beat 
a  retreat  with  bag  and  baggage — the  sick  and 
poor  at  the  expense  of  the  authorities — the  move- 
ment on  the  first  of  May  would  bear  no  compar- 
ison. Well-dressed  women  with  "  a  blanket,  in 
the  alarm  of  fear  caught  up,"  were  seen  drag- 
ging along  a  squalling  child,  without  a  hat, 
through  the  blazing  sun,  and  the  fond  father  fol- 
lowing with  a  bed  on  his  head,  and  perhaps  a 
gridiron  or  a  pair  of  tongs  in  his  hand.  All  the 
ferry-boats  to  Hoboken,  Powles  Hook,  Staten 
Island,  and  Brooklyn  were  constantly  plying, 
loaded  down  with  passengers,  who  seemed  to 
think  drowning  a  secondary  consideration  ;  and 
in  one  hour  the  thickly-inhabited  and  largest  por- 
tion of  New- York  was  deserted  by  every  human 
being.  The  district  supposed  to  be  infected  was 
boarded  up,  the  streets  covered  ankle  deep  with 
lime,  and  all  intercourse  prohibited.  My  family 
were  fortunately  in  New-Jersey,  and  my  house, 
though  far  enough  from  the  point  of  danger  to 
ensure  my  own  safety,  was  still  too  near,  in  the 
estimation  of  my  friends,  for  them  to  make  it  a 
sanctuary,  so  John  Kent  and  I  kept  bachelor's 
hall,  for  not  a  soul  would  venture  to  pay  us  a 
visit.  He  was  a  faithful  old  negro,  who  for 
years  had  been  employed  in  the  theatre  as  a 
sort  of  deputy  property-maker ;  he  professed  a 
great  regard  for  me  in  consequence  of  my  being 


62 


THIRTY   YEARS 


"a  countryman !"  for,  happening  tc  be  born  on  the 
Island  of  Jamaica,  lie  prided  himself  upon  being 
"English."  Twice  a  week  we  made  it  a  rule 
late  at  night  to  trespass  on  the  uninhabited  re- 
gion, John  loaded  with  a  huge  basket  of  coarse 
f>rovisions  for  the  starving  cats,  who  instinctive- 
y  believe  "  there  is  no  place  like  home,"  and, 
after  a  donation  or  two  of  the  sort,  the  numbers 
that  would  surround  us,  the  moment  they  heard 
us  approach,  would  be  past  belief:  I  found  it  a 
most  whimsical  mode  of  cheating  a  long,  dull 
night  of  part  of  its  death-like  solitude;  not  an- 
other thing  that  breathes  and  stirs  would  we 
meet  in  our  walk,  excepting  a  single  horse,  per- 
haps, trotting  along  with  an  unattended  hearse, 
and  the  driver  smoking  a  cigar  or  whistling 
"  Yankee  Doodle." 

I  had  once  witnessed  the  full  horrors  of  this 
scourge  to  mankind  in  the  West  Indies,  and 
though  a  great  number  fell  victims  in  New- York, 
yet,  by  comparison  with  what  I  had  seen,  to  my 
mind  it  was  disarmed  of  its  terrors;  but  not  so 
with  the  generality  of  the  inhabitants,  and  I  firm- 
ly believe  half  the  deaths  were  caused  by  fright 
alone. 

A  fine,  jovial  fellow,  a  jeweller,  by  the  name 
of  Irish,  had  "a  dog  he  loved,"  who  a  day  or 
two  after  his  master's  flight,  it  was  supposed, 
had  strayed  back  to  the  old  dwelling,  in  the  very 
heart  of  the  infected  district;  and  though  he 
valued  the  animal  as  dearly  as  he  could  a  child, 
and  danger  in  "  any  shape  but  that"  he  would 
have  despised,  yet,  though  suffering  actual  ago- 
ny at  the  thought  of  the  poor  little  wretch  being 
starved  to  death,  he  could  not  summon  strength 
of  mind  enough  to  go  in  search  of  him,  nor  hire 
any  one  who  would.  Though  "  to  do  good  is 
sometimes  dangerous  folly,"  I  undertook  the  task, 
and  after  a  fight  on  the  steps  with  the  half-fam- 
ished wasp,  i  succeeded  in  tying  him  up  in 
my  handkerchief,  and  bundled  him  back  to  his 
master. 

Many  of  the  retail  dealers  from  Broadway 
and  Pearl-street,  after  the  first  alarm  had  subsi- 
ded, had  erected  temporary  sheds  for  the  sale  of 
their  various  merchandise  at  Greenwich  Village, 
which  could  then  only  boast  of  a  state-prison 
and  some  dozen  scattered  houses,  and,  in  conse- 
quence, the  place  suddenly  assumed  the  appear- 
ance of  a  fair.  The  young  clerks  and  appren- 
tices, having  little  else  to  do,  had  displayed  their 
wit  in  various  jokes  in  rhyme  on  their  make- 
shift signs;  Irish  applied  to  me  for  one  "accord- 
ing to  the  fashion  of  the  time,"  and  I  perpetra- 
ted the  following: 

Charles  Irish,  that  brave-looking  fellow, 

Watchmaker,  late  of  Wall-street, 
Took  fright  at  the  fever  called  yellow, 

And  to  this  place  has  made  his  retreat ; 
Now  in  this  don't  you  think  he  was  right? 

For  had  he  stayed  there  and  got  sick, 
He'd  no  more  wind  his  clock  up  at  night. 

Or  sell  you  a  watch  upon  tick. 


CHAPTER  III. 

"E'en  ere  an  artful  spider  spins  a  line 
Of  metaphysic  texture,  man's  thin  thread 
Of  life  is  hroken  :   how  analogous 
Their  parallel  of  lines  !  slight,  subtle,  vain." 

Sickness,  a  Poem,  by  William  Thompson. 

The  first  of  September  came,  the  then  regular 
period  of  commencing  the  season  at  the  Park, 
and  no  abatement  of  the  epidemic.  But  the 
panic  which  this  unexpected  visitation  had  cre- 


ated having  in  part  subsided,  a  number  of  the 
inhabitants  had  returned  to  the  city,  though  but 
few  to  their  houses;  and.  in  consequence,  the 
town  and  village  were  crowded  with  idlers,  in- 
cluding the  actors,  with  long  faces  and  empty 
pockets.  As  a  resource,  it  was  proposed  to  fit 
up  the  Circus  in  Broadway,  belonging  to  West, 
as  a  temporary  theatre;  the  same  building  that 
is  now  called  Tattersal's,  and  then  literally  out 
of  town.  My  friend,  Sam  Dunn,  the  long  Yan- 
kee carpenter,  who  picked  me  up  and  trundled 
me  out  the  first  day  I  tumbled  on  an  American" 
stage,  had  all  prepared  in  a  few  days,  and  we- 
went  into  successful  operation;  playing  to  busi- 
ness which  enabled  us  to  pay  all  the  expendi- 
ture, and  two  thirds  salary  the  first  three  weeks, 
and  then  the  whole  amount,  till  the  Park  open- 
ed. When  the  affair  was  past  a  doubt,  Simpson- 
packed  up  his  fishing-tackle  and  took  the  reins 
of  government.  Like  most  large  cities,  places 
of  public  amusement  in  New- York  depend  for 
their  chief  support  on  strangers  and  visiters; 
but  the  inhabitants  then  attended  the  theatre  from- 
the  fact  of  there  being  nowhere  else  to  go ;  even 
most  of  the  churches  were  shut  up — I  have  fre- 
quently found  the  parsons,  whether  at  sea  or  on 
land,  the  very  first  to  run  from  danger — and  the 
houses  were  well  filled  nightly.  I  took  one  of 
my  benefits  there,  and  had  upward  of  eight  hun- 
dred dollars  at  circus  prices. 

That  excellent  actor,  John  Clark,  whom  Price 
engaged  upon  my  recommendation,  and  Watkin- 
son,  to  play  the  old  men  in  the  place  of  Barnes, 
who  had  left  for  England  at  the  end  of  the 
season,  arrived  at  the  very  height  of  the  sickness ; 
and  poor  Charles  Matthews  and  Price  popped? 
in  in  the  thick  of  it,  but,  fortunately,  none  of 
them  suffered  from  anything  but  fright. 

Matthews  made  his  appearance  in  Goldfinch, 
and  was  very  coldly  received  ;  he  introduced  his- 
two  excellent  songs,  "  The  picture  of  a  play- 
house." and  "  A  description  of  a  ring-fight;"  nei- 
ther being  then  understood,  they  were  not  en- 
cored, and  the  whole  performance  might  be  con- 
sidered a  failure;  but,  fortunately  for  him  and 
the  management,  he  had  studied  on  the  passage 
M.  Morbleau,  and  Price,  who  was  a  great  di- 
plomatist in  theatrical  politics,  knowing  the  ad- 
vantage of  an  original  part,  urged  him  to  play 
that  character  in  the  farce,  and  in  that  he  made 
a  tremendous  hit. 

Little  dependance  was  placed  on  his  entertain- 
ments; but,  contrary  to  all  expectation,  his  main 
success  was  hinged  upon  them.  He  was  more- 
highly  relished  at  Philadelphia  and  Boston  than 
at  New-York,  though  he  drew  crowded  houses 
everywhere  he  went.  Price  followed  him  like 
a  shadow,  and  nursed  him  like  a  child.  He  was 
really  an  amiable,  good-hearted  man ;  but  his 
nervous  irritability — commenced,  no  doubt,  in 
affectation,  and  terminated  in  disease— rendered 
him  extremely  objectionable  to  those  who  were 
not  inclined  either  to  submit  to,  or  laugh  at  his 
prejudices;  and  his  uncontrolled  expressions  of 
disgust  at  everything  American  would  have 
speedily  ended  his  career,  but  that  Price  man- 
aged to  have  him  continually  surrounded  by  a 
certain  set,  who  had  good  sense  enough  to  ad- 
mit his  talent  as  ample  amends  for  his  rudeness. 
He  actually  came  to  rehearsal  with  his  nose 
stopped  with  cotton,  to  prevent  his  smelling  "  the 
d —  American  mutton  chops  !"  who  could  even 
laugh  at  such  folly  1  It  was  positively  neces- 
sary to  his  health  and  happiness  to  have  some 
fresh  annoyance  every  day,    He  hadn't  been  in 


PASSED    AMONG   THE    PLAYERS. 


63 


New- York  a  week,  when  he  got  a  letter  from  ,  ered,  in  the  first  scene,  digging  away  in  a  Turk 
some  poor  woman,  who  craved  his  assistance,    ish  garden  ;  I  was  a  sort  of  overseer,  and  enter- 


on  the  score  of  having  known  him  before  at  Old 
York :  this  was  most  deliriously  disagreeable ; 
he  showed  the  letter  to  everybody — explained  the 
persecutions  he  had  experienced  in  the  same 
way  in  England  :  "  And  now,"  said  he,  "  dam'me, 
they  are  full  cry  after  me  in  America  i"  Upon 
this  hint,  Price  and  myself,  in  disguised  hands, 
sent  him  two  or  three  epistles  every  morning, 
dated  from  the  Five  Points,  or  Chapel-street,  from 
some  "disconsolate  English  widow,"  or  "«  poor 
forsaken  young  wo?nan."  And  by  introducing 
the  names  of  persons  he  might  happen  to  men- 
tion in  his  convivial  anecdotes,  or  those  whom 
I  had  heard  speak  of  him  while  at  York  and 
other  places,  he  had  no  doubt  of  their  authenti- 
city, and  one  purporting  to  be  from  Johnny 
Winter's  niece,  stating  that  "  she  remembered  his 
flaying  Lingo  when  she  was  a  child,  icas  now  in 
great  distress,  and,  for  the  love  he  bore  Jier  uncle, 
claimed  his  aid,"  kept  him  fully  employed  in  ima- 
ginary misery  for  a  week. 

At  his  last  engagement  that  season,  his  attrac- 
tion decreasing,  Price  cajoled  him  into  playing 
Othello,  which  drew  a  full  house ;  and  he  was 
actually  childish  enough  to  believe  he  could  play 
it — not  in  imitation,  but  in  the  manner  of  John 
Kemblel  But  no  matter  whose  manner  it  was 
intended  to  convey,  he  made  the  Moor  the  most 
melancholy,  limping  negro  I  ever  beheld.  The 
audience  were  exactly  of  my  way  of  think- 
ing; and  but  for  the  high  favour  he  had  gained, 
they  would  have  smothered  him,  long  before  he 
smothered  Desdemona. 

Before  I  left  England  Tom,  and  Jerry  was  in 
preparation  for  the  Adelphi.  Burroughs,  alias 
Watkins,  was  to  be  the  Corinthian;  Wilkinson, 
Logic  ;  and  Jerry,  Moncrief  had  written  for  me, 
but  when  I  came  to  America,  by  omitting  the 
songs  and  otherwise  altering  the  character,  from 
what  was  exclusively  meant  to  suit  my  style, 
Burroughs  played  the  part,  and  Wrench  was  en- 
gaged for  Tom.  Simpson  had  had  the  manu- 
script for  some  time,  but  was  under  the  appre- 
hension that  an  American  audience  would  never 
tolerate  the  vulgar  slang  nonsense.  At  my  ear- 
nest solicitation,  at  length  the  experiment  was 
made,  but  so  positive  was  he  that  the  piece  could 
not  succeed,  that  little  or  nothing  was  done  to 
assist  it;  it  was  even  carelessly  rehearsed  at  the 
back  of  the  stage  while  business  of  more  sup- 
posed importance  occupied  the  front;  but,  not- 
withstanding, Tom  and  Jerry,  in  its  day,  drew 
more  money  than  any  other  piece  ever  played  in 
the  United  "States ! 

M.  M.  Noah,  who  had  already  produced  sev- 
eral dramatic  pieces  with  success,  manufac- 
tured a  play  called  The  Grecian  Captive,  which 
was  performed  for  his  uncle's  benefit,  A.  Phil- 
lips. I  was  cast  for  what  was  said  to  be  the 
best  part  in  the  piece;  at  all  events,  it  was  the 
longest;  all  I  ever  did  know  about  it  was  the 
name,  and  that  was  Goodman.  The  drama  was 
supposed  to  be  written  in  blank  verse,  that  is, 
good,  wholesome,  commonplace  language,  the 
wrong  end  foremost,  after  the  manner  of  Sheri- 
dan Knowles : 

"And  to  cram  these  words  into  mine  ears 
Against  the  stomach  of  my  sense," 

for  one  night  only,  was  out  of  the  question,  and 
I  made  up  my  mind  to  speak  the  meaning  of  the 
part  after  what  flourish  my  nature  prompted,  and 
so,  indeed,  I  believe,  had  all  the  performers. 
Simpson  and  some  other  captives  were  diseov- 


ed  to  them,  after  the  manner  of  Sadi,  in  the 
Mountaineers,  and  recognised,  somehow  or  an- 
other, in  the  captive  I  was  chiding  for  idleness, 
"  a  beloved  master,"  and  Simpson  and  I  were 
proceeding  with  an  interesting  dialogue  after 
this  fashion : 

"  Captive.  My  faithful  Goodman,  do  I  behold  once  more 
That  honest  form  ? 

"  Goodman.  Master,  most  dearly  loved, 
Let  an  embrace  assure  me  that  I  do  not  dream'."' 

And  as  we  were  suiting  the  action  to  the  word, 
he  whispered  in  my  ear, 

"  Dam'me,  Joe,  look  at  the  books." 
And,  upon  turning  to  the  audience,  every  one 
in  the  front  had  a  copy  in  his  hand.  To  in- 
crease the  attraction,  the  play  had  been  publish- 
ed, and  every  purchaser  of  a  box-ticket  had  been 
presented  with  a  book,  which  arrangement  I  had 
never  heard  of  till  then.  I  am  not  easily  embar- 
rassed, but  this  annoyed  me  exceedingly.  If  I  had 
not  been  the  principal  victim  in  the  business — 
for  I  was  on  the  stage  nearly  the  whole  of  the- 
piece — I  could  have  enjoyed  the  anxiety  of  the 
audience  endeavouring  to  find  out  where  we 
were.  You  might  see  one  thumbing  over  the 
leaves  one  after  another,  then  turn  them  all  back,, 
listen  an  instant,  and  then  begin  again.  An- 
other appeal  to  his  neighbour,  and  he  shake  his 
head  in  despair.  I  was  assured  very  seriously 
by  a  young  critic,  the  next  day,  that  I  had  actu~ 
ally  sometimes  cut  out  a  whole  page  at  a  time.  But 
I  could  not  laugh  at  it ;  I  was  angry,  and  con- 
sidered the  arrangement  a  rudeness  on  the  part  of 
Mr.  Phillips.  At  nearly  the  close  of  a  long  and 
laborious  season,  a  whole  company  had  cheer- 
fully, for  the  sake  of  serving  him,  undertaken 
to  get  through  with  a  composition  that  the  author 
himself  could  never  wish  should  see  daylight; 
and  though  Phillips  knew  that  not  a  soul  could 
learn  more  than  the  action,  he,  for  the  sake 
of  a  few  dollars,  lets  an  audience  into  a  secret 
which,  for  their  own  sake  as  well  as  ours,  they 
had  better  not  have  known. 

Towards  the  end  of  the  first  act  I  had  to  be 
seized  and  taken  off  to  prison.  Supernumeraries 
were  not  easily  obtained  in  those  days ;  gener- 
ally they  consisted  of  young  men  with  souls  oMove 
buttons;  Booths  and  Forrests  in  the  shell,  full  of 
starts  and  attitudes,  and  terribly  in  earnest  in  all 
they  had  to  do.  If  they  had  to  seize  you,  they 
really  seized  you,  and  left  the  print  of  their  fin- 
gers on  either  arm  for  a  week ;  and  if  they  had 
to  knock  you  down,  the  odds  were  large  against 
your  ever  coming  to  time.  I  was  well  aware  of  their 
reality  propensities,  and  had  particularly  requested 
them  in  the  morning  to  "  use  all  gently."  But 
Woodhull — "  a  pestilence  on  him  for  a  mad  wag," 
he's  in  his  grave  long  ago — delighted  at  my  an- 
noyance, and  determining,  if  possible,  to  increase 
it — having  taken  a  leaf  out  of  my  own  book — 
told  these  gentlemen,  who  were  engaged  to  do 
as  they  were  bid  by  everybody,  that  I  had  chan- 
ged my  mind,  and  that  at  the  word  they  were  to 
rush  upon  me  with  all  their  force  and  trip  me 
behind,  which,  I  being  off  my  guard,  they  did 
most  effectively.  When  I  could  scramble  on> 
my  feet  again,  with  all  my  might  I  floored  the- 
first  man  I  met  with,  and  then  rushed  off  the 
stage.  Poor  Nixen  was  my  victim,  and  he 
"  only  gave  the  order,"  was  not  to  blame,  and 
therefore  promised  to  thrash  me  after  the  play; 
but  as  I  had  bunged  his  eye  up  by  mistake,  he 
looked  over  the  matter  with  the  other.    I  was 


■■64 


THIRTY    YEARS 


most  ridiculously  angry,  and  vowed  I  would  not 
go  on  the  stage  again.  But  Simpson  smoothed 
me  down,  and  my  friend  Noah  acknowledged  the 
bad  taste  of  the  books  being  distributed,  and 
confessed  the  language  "  was  very  hard  to  learn." 

"And  so  is  Peter  Piper  picked  a  peck  of 
pickled  pepper,"  I  stuttered  out ;  "  but  it's  hor- 
rid trash  ibr  all  that." 

In  the  last  scene,  Phillips,  half  frightened 
■to  death,  came  on  wriggling,  on  the  back  of  a 
j'eal  elephant ;  and  an  unexpected  hydraulic  ex- 
periment he  introduced — I  mean  the  elephant — 
to  the  great  astonishment  and  discomfiture  of 
the  musicians,  closed  the  performance  amid  the 
shouts  of  the  audience. 

Now,  though  I  and  my  numerous  assistants 
had  effectually  damned  the  piece,  the  kind-heart- 
ed Noah,  the  next  day,  in  his  own  paper,  wrote 
an  excuse  for  the  performers,  and  placed  the 
whole  blame  to  his  imprudence  in  permitting 
the  books  to  be  given  away. 

West,  with  a  fine  company  of  performers,  and 
a  magnificent  stud  of  horses,  paid  a  yearly  visit 
to  New- York,  to  the  serious  injury  of  the  thea- 
tre; and,  in  self-defence,  Price  and  Simpson 
were  desirous  to  buy  him  out.  To  effect  this, 
resort  was  had  to  stratagem,  in  which  I  played 
a  very  useful  part.  My  particular  intimacy 
with  the  management  being  notorious,  with 
binding  oaths  of  secrecy,  I  named  to  those  well 
fitted  to  instantly  convey  the  news  to  West,  that 
the  Park  proprietors  intended  erecting  a  most 
splendid  amphitheatre  in  Broadway,  on  the  va- 
cant lot  where  the  Masonic  Hall  now  stands; 
a  model,  somewhat  after  the  plan  of  Astley's, 
was  placed  in  the  green-room,  and  imagination, 
aided  by  the  whisper  abroad,  soon  gave  it  a  lo- 
cal habitation  and  a  name.  A  delinquent  from 
the  circus  (Tatnal)  was  engaged,  and  employed 
to  break  two  horses  in  a  temporary  ring,  boarded 
round,  in  a  lot  on  the  alley  at  the  back  of  the 
theatre.  These  broad  hints  at  opposition  soon 
brought  matters  to  an  issue ;  and  at  a  fair 
price,  and  easy  mode  of  payment — for  a  large 
portion  of  the  amount  was  raised  by  the  re- 
ceipts after  they  were  in  possession — Simpson 
and  Price,  and  some  others,  who  then  objected 
to  be  known  to  be  interested,  and,  through 
my  means,  shall  not  now,  purchased  the  build- 
ings, lease,  engagements,  horses,  wardrobe, 
scenery,  and  a  prohibition  against  West  again 
establishing  a  circus  in  the  United  States. 
And,  well  pleased  with  such  a  winding-up  to 
his  experiment,  West,  with  a  handsome  fortune, 
went  to  England  ;  for,  when  he  arrived  in  Amer- 
ica, he  had  not  the  means  to  pay  for  the  passa- 
ges of  his  company  until  Price  and  Simpson  ad- 
vanced the  money,  and  engaged  the  horse  and 
foot  to  "  Timouf  the  Tartar"  and  "  Siege  of 
Belgrade"  for  the  Park  Theatre. 

A  Frenchman,  by  the  name  of  Barriere,  had 
fitted  up  a  small  garden  at  the  back  of  a  confec- 
tioner's shop  in  Chatham-street,  with  two  or 
three  dozen  transparent  lamps,  and 

"  Seats  beneath  the  shade, 
For  talking  age  and  whispering  lovers  made  ;" 

and,  by  selling  "sweets  to  the  sweet"  at  a  shil- 
ling a  head,  had  made  a  great  deal  of  money; 
which,  to  rapidly  increase,  he  raised  a  plat- 
form, called  it  an  orchestra,  covered  it  with  can- 
vass, engaged  a  French  horn,  clarionet,  fiddle, 
and  a  chorus-singer  from  the  Park,  with  the 
gentle  name  of  Lamb,  who  bleated  a  song  or 
-two,  and  with  this  combination  of  talent  attract- 


ed crowds  every  night,  to  the  great  injury,  "in 
the  springtime  of  year,"  of  the  theatre.  Price 
put  in  force  some  fire-proof  law,  prohibiting  all 
canvass  or  skin-deep  establishments  within  a 
certain  limit,  and  the  old  Frenchman  was  obli- 
ged to  strike  his  tent;  but,  with  the  ice-cream 
profits,  he  purchased  bricks  and  mortar,  and 
built  the  Chatham  Theatre. 

While  this  was  in  embryo,  Mrs.  Baldwin,  a 
sister  to  Mrs.  Barnes,  turned  the  brains  of  some 
half  dozen  would-be-acting  young  men  and  wom- 
en, and  a  private  house  in  Warren-street  into  a 
theatre,  and  opened  a  show  there.  Tom  Hilson 
had  been  seduced  away  from  the  Park,  where  he 
had  been  a  great  favourite  in  my  line  of  busi- 
ness, by  Charles  Gilfert,  a  German  musician, 
who  had  married  Miss  Holman,  and  was,  in 
consequence,  manager  of  the  Charleston,  South 
Carolina,  Theatre.  On  Hilson's  necessary  re- 
turn to  the  North  in  the  summer,  being  shut  out 
by  me  from  the  Park,  he  accepted  a  star  engage- 
ment at  this  old  lady's  concern,  and  drew  crowd- 
ed houses.  Gilfert,  who  was  a  very  enterpri- 
sing, talented  man,  with  some  powerful  friends, 
already  began  to  talk  of  a  theatre  in  the  Bowery; 
and  Hilson,  in  such  an  event,  being  a  dangerous 
ally,  I  sacrificed  my  taste  to  aid  my  friends,  and 
on  the  fourth  of  July,  1823,  took  the  control  of 
the  circus,  vacating  my  position  at  the  theatre, 
to  be  filled  by  Hilson,  and  Harry  Placide  as  his 
assistant,  in  my  very  extensive  round  of  charac- 
ters. 

Hilson  was  the  son  of  a  picture-dealer  by  the 
name  of  Hill,  a  man  of  some  wealth;  for  in 
that  day,  copying  and  repairing  pictures,  and 
giving  them  an  ancient  name  and  appearance, 
was  as  profitable  as  passing  counterfeit  money, 
and  relieved  of  the  disgrace  and  danger;  and, 
indeed,  I  have  seen  copies  of  pictures  so  excel- 
lent, that  they  were  cheap  at  the  price  the  origi- 
nals could  command.  Who  ever  grumbled  at 
paying  a  dollar  to  see  Booth  play  Richard  the 
Third,  provided  they  had  never  beheld  Kean  in 
the  same  character  1 

His  family  being  averse  to  his  imitating  Na- 
ture instead  of  art,  Tom  bade  adieu  to  his  coun- 
try, denied  his  father  by  putting  the  son  to  his 
name,  and  came  to  America,  where  he  might 
freely  indulge  his  predilection  for  the  drama. 
But,  having  entered  the  profession  more  after  the 
manner  of  an  amateur,  than  an  actor  who  had 
regularly  and  patiently  climbed  the  rounds  of 
the  Thespian  ladder,  the  drudgery  of  the  trade 
he  never  could  surmount.  He  required  time  for 
study,  and  a  choice  of  characters,  in  which  for 
years  he  was  indulged;  while  Harry  Placide 
quietly  filled  up  the  interstices  with  such  care 
and  skill,  that  ultimately  the  trifling  space  Hil- 
son occupied  was  not  worth  paying  largely  for 
by  the  management,  nor  the  vacancy  likely  to  be 
noticed  by  the  audience.  Poor  Hilson  took  ref- 
uge in  the  West,  and  left  Placide  the  undisputed 
master  of  the  field. 

He  died  suddenly,  about  two  years  afterward, 
at  Louisville,  Kentucky.  In  characters  requi- 
ring homely  pathos,  if  they  can  be  so  described, 
such  as  the  old  father  in  "Clari,"  he  could  not 
be  equalled;  in  humorous  parts,  in  endeavour- 
ing to  be  broad,  he  was  coarse.  As  a  man  he  was 
most  estimable.  He  married  Miss  Johnson,  one 
of  the  very  few  who  make  you  feel  truly  proud 
that  you  belong  to  the  same  profession.  They 
lived  but  for  each  other;  and  when  he  died,  a 
beautiful  little  girl  was  all  that  tied  her  to  the 
earth,  who,  shortly  after,  being  seized  with  a  ma- 


PASSED   AMONG   THE    PLAYERS. 


65 


lignant  fever,  the  widowed  parent  vowed  one 
grave  should  hold  them,  and  wildly  inhaled  her 
infant's  poisoned  breath  till  saturated  with  dis- 
ease. But  God  spared  the  child,  and  the  poor 
mother  perished. 

I  loved  them  both  as  I  would  a  brother  and  a 
sister,  which  is  much  to*say  "  in  this  all-hating 
world." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"  Have  they  not  sword-players,  and  every  sort 
Of  gymnic  artists,  wrestlers,  riders,  runners, 
Jugglers  and  dancers,  antics,  mummers,  mimics, 
To  make  them  sport?'' — Sampson  Agonistes. 

I  now  look  back  and  laugh  at  the  contradict- 
ory feelings  I  experienced  the  first  day  I  walked 
through  the  aisle-like  stable,  to  be  introduced  to 
the  members  of  the  circus  as  their  future  man- 
ager ;  each  stall  occupied  by  a  magnificent  ani- 
mal, knee-deep  in  unsoiled  straw,  platted  into  a 
kind  of  door-mat  fringe  on  its  outer  edge,  to  se- 
cure the  particles  from  littering  the  snow-white 
pavement.  The  childish  pride  I  felt  as  "to  my- 
self I  said," 

"  I'm  monarch  of  all  I  survey, 
My  right  there  is  none  to  dispute," 

was  checked  by  the  recollection  of  the  sacrifice 
I  was  about  to  make  of  my  profession;  and  for 
the  life  of  me  I  could  not  suppress  the  thought 
that  there  might  be  some  of  my  legitimate  asso- 
ciates who,  in  speaking  of  my  appointment, 
would  apply  to  me  that  coarse  but  common  com- 
bination of  words  and  wit,  "horse  —  and  saw- 
dust" manager;  which,  though,  in  point  of  fact, 
it  amounts  to  the  same  thing  as  "sole  director 
of  the  celebrated  equestrian  company,"  yet,  by 
taking  away  the  dignified  name  of  the  office,  all 
that  remained  was  mental  slavery  of  the  worst 
kind,  because  totally  at  variance  with  my  taste 
or  former  pursuits.  But  Tom  Ash,  the  chair- 
maker  and  celebrated  financier,  said  I  should 
make  a  fortune  "by  the  operation"  and,  with  this 
imaginary  gilding,  I  swallowed  the  pill. 

My  few  weeks'  experience  at  Astley's  I  found 
of  infinite  service  in  my  new  undertaking;  at  all 
events,  it  gave  me  the  power  of  backing  my  di- 
rections with  "that's  t/ie  way  we  always  did  it  at 
Astley's,"  and  such  authority  was  indisputable. 
To  successfully  command  an  army,  a  banditti, 
or  a  circus,  it  is  all-important  that  the  corps 
should  have  implicit  confidence  in  the  capability 
of  their  leader;  and  who  could  doubt  mine,  when 
J  had  graduated  at  Astley's  ?  Large  additions  to 
horse  and  foot  had  been  made,  and  the  company 
was  both  extensive  and  excellent :  a  stud  of 
thirty-three  horses,  four  ponies,  and  a  jackass, 
all  so  admirably  selected  and  educated,  that  for 
beauty  and  utility  they  could  not  be  equalled 
anywhere.  The  concern  was  already  popular, 
and  the  powerful  influence  of  the  proprietors  in- 
cog, made  it  (oh,  enviable  democratic  distinction !) 
a  very  fashionable  resort,  and  our  success  was 
enormous.  Of  course,  like  others  when  first 
placed  in  power,  I  made  a  total  change  in  my 
cabinet.  John  Blake  I  appointed  secretary  of 
the  treasury  and  principal  ticket-seller ;  and  to 
prove  how  excellent  a  judge  I  was  of  integrity 
and  capacity,  he  was  engaged  at  the  Park  at  the 
end  of  the  season,  and  has  held  that  important 
situation  there  ever  since.  A  delicious  speci- 
men of  the  Emerald  Isle,  with  the  appropriate 
equestrian  appellation  of  Billy  Rider,  received 
an  office  of  nearly  equal  trust,  though  smaller 


chance  of  perquisites  —  stage  and  stable  door- 
keeper at  night,  and  through  the  day  a  variety 
of  duties,  to  designate  half  of  which  would  oc- 
cupy a  chapter.  He  was  strict  to  a  fault  in  the 
discharge  of  his  duty,  as  every  urchin  of  that 
day  who  attempted  to  sneak  into  the  Circus  can 
testify.  Conway  the  tragedian  called  to  see  me 
one  evening,  and  in  attempting  to  pass  was  stop- 
ped by  Billy,  armed,  as  usual,  with  a  pitchfork. 

"  What's  this  you  want?  Who  are  ye?  and 
where  are  you  going?"  says  Billy. 

"  1  wish  to  see  Mr.  Cowell,"  says  Conway. 

"Oh,  then,  it's  till  to-morrow  at'lO  o'clock,  in 
his  office,  that  you'll  have  to  wait  to  perform  that 
operation." 

"But,  my  dear  fellcw,  my  name  is  Conway, 
of  the  theatre ;  Mr.  Cowell  is  my  particular 
friend,  and  I  have  his  permission  to  enter." 

"  By  my  word,  sir,  I  thank  ye  kindly  for  the 
explination — and  it's  a  mighty  tall,  good-looking 
'gentleman  you  are  too,"  says  Billy,  presenting 
his  pitchfork;  "  but  if  ye  were  the  blessed  Re- 
deemer, with  the  cross  under  your  arm,  you 
couldn't  pass  me  without  an  orther  from  Mr. 
Cowell." 

Bob  Mayvvood,  on  his  benefit  night,  during 
my  first  season  at  the  Park,  mistaking  the  noise 
made  by  the  call-boy  and  some  of  his  playmates 
frolicking  behind  the  scenes,  before  the  curtain 
was  up,  for  the  commencement  of  the  perform- 
ance, poked  his  nose  through  the  door  in  the 
flat  to  take  a  peep  at  the  house  before  he  went 
on,  when  one  of  the  lads,  supposing  Bob's  nose 
was  that  of  his  comrade,  sneaked  softly  by  the 
side  of  the  scene  and  tweaked  it  most  abomina- 
bly; discovering  his  mistake,  the  boy  was  off 
and  under  the  stage  before  Maywood  could  get 
to  the  front.  I  was  greatly  amused  at  poor 
Bob's  astonishment  and  anger  at  this  mysterious 
insult.  A  reward  was  offered  for  the  discovery 
of  the  offender,  but  as  I  alone  was  witness  to 
the  deed,  he  wasn't  likely  to  be  found  out.  In 
the  course  of  the  evening  a  fine-countenanced, 
bold-looking,  red-headed  rascal,  with  an  extra- 
ordinary large  mole  on  his  chin,  exhibiting  half 
a  dozen  hairs  of  the  same  complexion,  came 
sidling  up  to  me,  and,  with  a  roguish  smile,  said, 

"  Don't  you  go  to  tell  on  me,  sir." 

"Oh,  oh,"  said  I,  "then  you  are  the  villain 
who  pulled  Bob  May  wood's  nose,  are  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  boy ;  "  but  indeed  I 
thought  it  was  George  Went's." 

This  was  my  first  acquaintance  with  Tom 
Blakeley.  I  faithfully  kept  his  secret;  and  he, 
in  gratitude,  was  always  on  the  alert  to  run  of 
an  errand,  or  do  any  little  job  I  required ;  but  if 
he  should  see  me  and  Maywood  in  conversa- 
tion, he'd  come  up,  with  a  mischievous  twinkle 
in  his  eye,  and  say, 

"Will  you  have  a  stick  of  candy,  sir?"  or 
"  an  apple,"  and  give  me  an  imploring  don't-tett 
look. 

I  liked  the  young  rogue,  but  the  run  of  the 
piece  in  which  boys  were  required  being  over,  I 
lost  sight  of  him;  but  a  few  days  after  my  ta- 
king the  circus,  a  well-grown  lad  presented  him- 
self as  an  applicant  for  a  situation,  and  by  the 
extraordinary  mole  on  the  chin  I  instantly  rec- 
ognised my  young  friend  of  nose-pulling  celeb- 
rity. For  old  acquaintance'  sake  I  gave  him  a 
small  salary  to  do  "anything,"  but  his  great  in- 
dustry and  propriety  of  conduct  soon  made  him 
a  most  valuable  member  of  the  company.  He 
afterward  became  an  excellent  actor,  and  for 
some  years  was  a  great  favourite  at  the  Park 


66 


THIRTY   YEARS 


and  Bowery.  He  was  the  first  to  introduce  rve- 
gro  singing  on  the  American  stage,  and  his 
"  Coal  "Black  Rose"  set  the  fashion  for  African 
melodies  which  Rice  for  years  has  so  success- 
fully followed.  While  at  Philadelphia,  Tom 
was  called  upon  by  the  city  authorities  to  give 
security  for  the  maintenance  of  a  "little  respon- 
sibility ';"  this  he  appeared  to  consider  a  most 
vile  plot  against  his  moral  character,  and,  indig- 
nantly declining  any  parental  honour  of  the  sort, 
retained  Colonel  James  Page  as  his  counsel,  and 
the  cause  went  to  trial.  An  alibi — that  most  im- 
portant point  in  any  case,  but  particularly  so  in 
one  of  this  kind — was,  with  much  plausibility, 
very  nearly  established,  when  the  prosecuting 
attorney  begged  permission  to  introduce  what 
he  called  a  very  material  witness.  A  young 
woman,  dressed  in  virgin  white,  with  a  black 
veil,  advanced,  and,  removing  a  cap  from  the 
head  of  an  infant,  disclosed  to  the  eyes  of  the 
court  and  jury  a  fine  head  of  bright  red  hair,  and 
the  fac- simile  of  Tom's  mole  on  the  chin.  The 
cause  was  instantly  decided  to  the  satisfaction 
of  all  parties — perhaps  excepting  the  unexpected 
father;  though  I  thought  I  saw  a  smile  of  re- 
sponsible parental  pride  play  over  his  counte- 
nance as  he  named  me  as  his  security  to  the 
parish,  and  declared  that,  "As  I  have  to  pay  for 
a  child,  I'll  have  the  worth  of  my  money,  and 
keep  it  myself."  And  to  his  credit  be  it  told, 
that  he  did,  and  educated  it  respectably,  and 
is  now  proud  of  an  amiable  and  interesting 
daughter. 

Among  the  horses  was  a  cream-coloured  Han- 
overian charger,  of  extraordinary  beauty  and 
immense  size,  and  went  so  proud  in  action,  "as 
if  he  disdained  the  ground."  Though  nothing 
in  his  life  was  applicable  to  his  name  but  the 
leaving  of  it  (he  was  killed  at  sea),  he  was  called 
Nelson. 

Immediately  after  taking  the  direction  of  the 
establishment,  I  made  myself  acquainted  with 
the  titles  and  general  character  and  qualifica- 
tions of  all  the  horses,  but  was  not  so  well  in- 
formed as  to  how  the  grooms,  minor  people,  and 
musicians  were  called ;  and  among  the  latter 
was  a  clarionet  player,  with  less  talent  but  with 
the  same  name  as  the  horse — Nelson.  But,  as 
Juliet  says, 

"  What's  in  a  name  ?  thai  which  we  call  a  rose, 
By  any  other  name  would  smell  as  sweet." 

On  a  Sunday,  in  the  forenoon.  Rodgers,  an 
equestrian  performer,  and  father  to  one  of  the 
first  riders  of  the  present  day,  called  at  my  house, 
and  requested  to  see  me  on  very  particular  busi- 
ness. Upon  inquiring  his  errand,  he  said,  with 
much  solemnity  of  manner, 

"  I'm  very  sorry  to  inform  you,  sir,  that  poor 
Nelson  is  dead." 

"  Dead  !"  said  I,  with  astonishment :  "  why, 
Mr.  Rodgers,  it's  impossible!  he  was  well  enough 
last  night;"  for,  in  passing  through  the  stable,  I 
had  stopped  to  caress  the  beautiful  animal,  and 
he  was  as  full  of  mischief  and  spirit  as  usual. 

"  Oh  no,  sir,"  said  Rodgers,  "  he  was  very  un- 
well for  two  days,  and  scarcely  able  to  perform." 

"Why,  I  knew  nothing  of  it,"  I  replied;  "  why 
didn't  some  of  them  let  me  know?  There  was 
no  necessity  for  his  being  employed  in  anything 
but  the  entree;  and,  indeed,  if  he  was  sick,  he 
shouldn't  have  been  used  even  for  that,  if  I  had 
known  it." 

"  You're  very  kind,  sir,  I'm  sure,"  replied  the 
friend  of  the  dead  musician.    "  He'll  be  a  great 


loss  to  the  concern ;  and  he  was  such  a  kind,, 
good  creature." 

"  Why,  as  to  his  kindness,  I  can't  agree  with 
you  there;  he  was  most  difficult  to  manage; 
but  his  loss,  as  you  observe,  will  be  irreparable. 
When  did  he  die?" 

"Early  this  morning.  I  was  up  with  him  all 
night.  He  kicked  and  rolled  about  in  great  ag- 
ony, and  you  might  have  heard  his  groans  for 
half  a  square." 

"  Poor  creature  !  And  what  did  they  say  was 
the  matter  with  him.  Mr.  Rodgers  1"  I  inquired. 

"The  colic,  or  something  of  that  sort;  and 
we  think  it  was  brought  on  by  his  eating  cu- 
cumbers." 

"Cucumbers!"  said  I:  "why,  where  did  he 
get  cucumbers'!" 

"  Mr.  Blyth,"  he  replied,  "received  some  as  a 
present,  and  he  gave  poor  Nelson  two  or  three." 

"  Well,  my  clear  sir,  they  never  could  have 
hurt  him;  and  if  they  were  likely  to  do  so,  Mr. 
Blyth,  of  all  others" — he  was  our  riding-master 
— "  would  never  have  given  them  to  him;  you 
may  depend  upon  it,  Rodgers,  it  was  the  hots." 

"  Oh  dear,  no,  sir,"  said  he,  with  a  confident 
veterinary  manner :  "  that's  a  disease  as  horses 
often  dies  on;  but  his  was  quite  different;  his 
body  was  all  drawn  up  in  a  heap,  and  the  sweat 
poured  oft"  him  in  pailfuls;  we  dosed  him  with 
brandy  ard  laudanum,  and  kept  rubbing  of  him, 
but  before  the  doctor  arrived  he  was  a  gone 
horse;"  and  then,  with  a  sigh,  he  continued, 
"  There's  George  Yeaman,  and  Williams,  and  a 
few  more  as  came  out  with  Old  West  along 
with  him,  wishes  to  pay  him  the  compliment  of 
giving  him  a  funeral,  and  wants  to  know  if  you 
would  be  good  enough  to  attend  ?" 

"  Oh,  pooh !  that's  perfectly  ridiculous,  Rodgers. 
I  respect  your  innocent-minded,  good-hearted 
feeling  ;  I  have  quite  as  good  a  right  to  be  sorry 
for  his  death  as  any  of  you,  but  a  funeral  is  all 
nonsense  ;  we'll  have  him  hauled  away  early  in 
the  morning,  and  thrown  in  the  river." 

"  Sir!"  said  he,  looking  aghast. 

"  Are  you  going  back  to  the  circus,  Mr.  Rod- 
gers 1"  I  inquired. 

"  No.  sir,"  said  he,  "  but  I  live  within  a  door 
or  two." 

"  Well,  then,  you  will  greatly  oblige  me  if 
you  will  call  and  tell  Peter,  or  any  of  the  grooms 
you  may  find  there,  to  employ  a  butcher,  or  any 
one  who  understands  the  business,  and  have 
him  skinned." 

"  Sir!  what!  skinned  1"  said  Rodgers,  in  as- 
tonishment. 

"And  if  you  please,  tell  them  to  have  it  done 
carefully,  and  be  sure  not  to  cut  off  his  ears  and 
tail ;  I  intend  to  have  him  stuffed." 

"  Stuffed  !"  said  Rodgers. 

'■'  Yes,"  said  I;  "  and  on  the  fourth  of  July,  or 
other  great  occasions,  we'll  have  him  hoisted 
out  for  a  sign,  or  use  him  for  a  dead  horse,  at 
any  rate." 

This  brought  our  equivocal  conversation  to  a 
climax;  and,  highly  delighted  at  finding  it  was 
Nelson  the  musician  instead  of  Nelson  the 
horse  who  had  been  killed  with  cucumbers  and 
kindness,  the  next  morning  I  joined  the  mourn- 
ers, and  saw  the  poor  fellow  "quietly  inurned." 

During  the  time  Lafayette  was  travelling 
through  the  Union,  receiving  the  enthusiastic 
homnge  of  all  classes  of  persons,  and,  by  the  only 
mode  in  his  power,  showing  his  gratitude  by 
kissing  all  the  young  women,  shaking  hands 
with  the  old,  and  blessing  the  little  children,  it 


PASSED   AMONfi   THE   PLAYERS. 


67 


so  happened  that  my  company  was  always  in 
some  city  where  he  was  not;  but  on  his  return 
to  New-York,  I  fortunately  encountered  him, 
and  through  the  influence  of  the  committee  of 
arrangements,  he  honoured  the  circus  with  a 
visit,  which,  of  course,  produced  an  overflowing 
house.  The  box  appropriated  for  the  use  ot 
himself  and  suite  I  had  decorated  with  as  many 
flags  as  1  could  borrow  from  volunteer  and  fire 
companies,  mechanic  and  masonic  societies, 
with  the  French  and  American  ensigns  enfold- 
ing each  other  in  divers  affectionate  attitudes, 
interspersed  with  a  profusion  of  every  descrip- 
tion of  vegetable  matter,  with  the  exception  of 
boughs  of  oak  and  laurel,  which  Billy  Rider  had 
been  desired  exclusivelv  to  obtain. 

"  There,  sir,  that's  what  you  sent  me  for,"  said 
Billy,  throwing  down  a  huge  bundle  of  shrubs. 
"No,  sir,  it  is  not;  I  said  oak  and  laurel/' 
"Divil  a  sprig  of  laurel  is  there,  I  believe, 
in  the  whole  State  of  Jarsey.  By  my  word, 
sir,  it  was  down  to  Weehawk  I  was,  and  back 
again  twiced.  As  to  oak,  by  the  powers, 
there's  plinty  o'  that  at  the  tops  o'  trees  where 
no  mortal  man  could  touch  a  leaf  of  it,  av  he 
had  the  legs  of  Goliath.  By  my  troth,  now, 
they  are  mighty  green  and  pretty— see  the 
red  birries  on  that  darling  there— depend  on  it, 
sir,  d_  the  difference  will  the  ould  gineral 
know;  he's  had  something  better  to  do  than  to 
be  bothering  his  brains  about  bothany ;  and  all 
those  flags  and  finery,  that's  the  thing  itself,  sir, 
to  tickle  a  Frenchman." 

And  I  believe  Rider  was  partially  right,  for 
upon  conducting  the  marquis  to  his  box,  for  the 
sake  of  saying  something,  I  apologized  for  the 
lack  of  preparation  in  consequence  of  the  short- 
ness of  the  notice  I  had  received  of  the  honour 
he  intended;  and  with  earnest  sincerity  of  man- 
ner, he  exclaimed, 

"  Sir,  it  is  most  superb  !" 
It  was  notorious  that  he  never  remained  more 
than  half  an  hour,  at  farthest,  at  any  theatre  he 
attended;  but  (in  my  opinion)  he  showed  his 
taste  by  witnessing  the  whole  of  our  perform- 
ance, and  expressing  his  admiration  at  the  prac- 
tical jokes  of  the  clown.  I  had,  of  course,  sent 
refreshments  to  the  party,  which  the  committee, 
like  all  committees,  appeared  to  enjoy  most 
heartily;  but  observing  the  general  didn't  par- 
take, I  inquired  personally  if  there  was  anything 
he  "particularly  wished,"  and  he  requested  "a 
glass  of  sugar  and  water."  Old  Hays,  the  cele- 
brated police-officer,  whom  I  had  stationed  at 
the  door  to  prevent  his  being  killed  with  kind- 
ness, I  despatched  for  the  desired  beverage ;  and 
wishing  "  to  take  a  drink"  with  the  good  old 
man,  1  ordered  two  glasses,  slyly  whispering 
Hays  to  put  some  gin  in  mine  :  when  he  return- 
ed, he  gave  me  a  cunning  sort  of  thief-catching 
wink  to  direct  me  to  my  "  sling;"  but  the  gener- 
al having  the  first  choice,  got  the  gin,  and  I  the 
sugar  and  water.  We  drank  without  a  remark ; 
I  don't  know  if  the  marquis  ever  repeated  his 
dose,  but  I  pledge  my  honour  I  never  have 
mine. 


-«fr- 


CHAPTER  V. 

"The  south  and  west  wj.nds  joined,  and,  as  they  blew, 
Waves,  like  a  rowling  trench,  before  them  threw. 
********** 

Thousands  our  noyses  were,  yet  we,  'mongst  all, 
Could  none  by  bis  rishr  name,  but  thunder  call. 
Lightning-  was  all  our  light ;  and  it  rain'd  more 
Than  if  the  sunne  had  drunke  the  sea  before. 


Some  rofhu'd  in  their  cabbins  lye,  equally 
Grieved  that  they  are  not  dead,  and  yet  must  dye  ; 
And,  as  sin-burden'd  sorties  from  grave  will  crcepe 
At  the  last  day,  some  forth  their  cabbins  peep, 
And  tremblingly  aske,  What  news?"— John  Donne. 

The  following  towns  constituted  our  circuit.-. 
New- York,  Boston,  Philadelphia,  Baltimore,. 
Washington  City,  and  Charleston,  South  Caro- 
lina. At  the  last-named  place  a  large  building- 
had  been  erected,  but  without  a  stage;  and 
Blythe  had  been  usually  sent  there  with  an  ex- 
clusively equestrian  company,  to  perform  during 
the  winter  months  ;  but,  on  Kean's  revisiting  the 
United  States,  as  he  had  never  been  to  the 
South,  it  was  thought  good  policy  to  engage 
him,  hire  the  theatre  there,  which  was  to  rent, 
make  some  additions  to  my  dramatic  corps,  and 
open  both  establishments  on  alternate  nights. 
Eighteen  of  the  most  valuable  horses  were  se- 
lected;  the  remainder,  with  Blythe,  and  a  few" 
of  the  grooms  who  couldn't  "cackle,"  were  left 
to  occasionally  perform  equestrian  pieces  at  the 
Park;  and,  with  fifty-five  souls,  including  mu- 
sicians, artists,  and  carpenters,  I  set  off"  for  the 
sunny  South. 

The  journey  by  land,  in  the  depth  of  winterr 
was  out  of  the  question;  it  was  therefore  deter- 
mined that  we  should  sail  from  Baltimore;  and 
the  ship  Orbit,  Captain  Fish,  was  engaged  for 
the  purpose.  She  was  a  fine,  roomy  vessel,  and 
built  expressly  for  one  of  the  line  of  packets  be- 
tween New- York  and  Liverpool,  but  not  proving 
fast  enough  to  compete  with  her  magnificent  al- 
lies, had  been  taken  out  of  the  trade.  We  paid 
one  thousand  dollars  for  the  use  of  her,  furnish- 
ing our  own  bedding  and  provisions,  and  fitting 
up,  at  our  own  expense,  the  stables  upon  deck, 
and  the  temporary  berths  and  state-rooms  be- 
tween. 

On  a  fine,  sunshiny  Sabbath  morning,  though 
unseasonably  warm  for  the  month  of  January, 
we  hauled  off  from  the  wharf,  and  were  towed 
into  the  tide,  to  float  down  the  beautiful  river- 
harbour  of  the  "Monumental  City," 

"  With  glist'ning  spires  and  pinnacles  adorn'd." 

There  was  not  a  breath  of  air  stirring,  nor  a  rip- 
ple on  the  water  to  disturb  the  equilibrity  of 
man  or  horse — a  calm  so  profound  as  to  realize 
the  immortal  Donne's  beautiful  illustration, 

"  In  one  place  lay 
Feathers  and  dust,  to-day  and  yesterday  ;" 

and,  in  the  language  of  naval  postscripts,  "offi- 
cers and  crew  all  well,  and  in  fine  spirits."  The 
ladies  had  the  exclusive  use  of  the  regular  cabin . 
and  forward  of  it  some  divisions  were  made  to 
form  state-rooms  for  myself  and  family,  and  the 
married  folks;  and  berths,  or  bunks,  were  erect- 
ed on  either  side  of  the  remaining  space  for  the 
rest  of  the  company.  They  formed  themselves 
into  different  messes;  the  subordinates,  espe- 
cially those  who  had  had  experience  in  mari- 
time matters,  acting  as  stewards.  Billy  Rider 
was  in  great  request ;  he  had  crossed  the  Atlan- 
tic three  times,  and  once  been  cast  away  in  a 
British  bark  bound  to  Belfast.  The  horses, 
well  trained  to  go  through  fire  or  water,  appear- 
ed to  care  little  about  the  novelty  of  their  situa- 
tion. The  grooms  and  carpenters  were  divided 
into  three  parties,  one  of  which  was  appointed 
to  constantly  watch  and  attend  them,  and  every- 
thing appeared  to  promise  a  pleasant  trip. 

About  noon  a  light  breeze  sprung  up  from  the 
northward,  and  we  made  sail ;  towards  sundown 
it  freshened  considerably,  and,  as  only  a  solitary 
lantera  was  allowed  to  swing  below,  all  the 


68 


THIRTY   YEARS 


landsmen  unemployed  had  a  good  excuse  for 
sneaking  quietly  to  their  berths.  The  next  day 
the  wind  still  continued  favourable;  and  the  fol- 
lowing morning  I  was  rejoiced  to  find  we  had 
got  rid  of  our  pilot,  and  cleared  the  Capes.  The 
wind  kept  in  our  favour  the  whole  of  the  day 
and  night,  though  blowing  unequally,  in  sudden 
gusts  and  flurries,  with  cold  and  drizzly  rain, 
demanding  an  additional  allowance  of  blankets 
for  the  horses,  and  an  extra  glass  to  the  men. 
About  midnight  it  suddenly  chopped  round  to 
the  southeast,  and  soon  increased  to  a  violent 
gale,  which  lasted  five  or  six  hours,  knocked  up 
a  tremendous  sea,  and  then  lulled  away  to  an 
awful  calm.  The  swell  was  dreadful;  and  the 
rolling  of  the  ship,  being  accelerated  by  the 
treading  of  the  horses  on  either  side  up  and 
down,  according  to  the  action  of  the  vessel, 
caused  everything  that  was  movable  below  to 
roll  and  jump,  according  to  its  specific  gravity, 
from  one  side  to  the  other,  at  regular  intervals; 
and  among  trunks,  boots,  books,  demijohns, 
broken  pitchers,  and  plates,  in  a  sitting  posture, 
looking  the  picture  of  patience,  was  poor  Harry 
Moreland,  arm  and  arm  with  William  Isher- 
wood,  sliding  to  and  fro,  and  exclaiming  at  ev- 
ery pause,  "  Curious!"  Rider  had  fast  hold  of 
the  hanging  part  of  the  chain-cable,  a  portion 
of  which  was  upon  deck,  and  the  rest  in  the 
hold;  he  had  mistaken  it,  I  supposed,  for  a 
stanchion,  and  was  dangling  backward  and 
forward  like  the  pendulum  of  a  clock,  express- 
ing, with  a  woful  countenance,  his  contrition  at 
having  "aten  a  meat  dinner  with  a  frind  the 
Saturday  before."  I  gave  him  absolution  and  an 
order  on  deck  in  the  same  breath.  His  boasted 
experience  was  now  required.  During  the  blow 
the  spar  on  the  starboard  side,  that  was  lashed 
fore  and  aft  to  partly  support  the  divisions  of 
the  stalls,  and  keep  the  horses  in  them,  had  part- 
ed, and  caused  some  confusion  ;  and  now  the 
ship  rolled  so  heavily,  and  the  horses  backing, 
or  actually  hanging  by  their  halters  at  every 
lurch,  it  required  all  the  exertion  of  all  the  hands 
I  could  muster  to  replace  it :  from  the  crew  I 
could  get  no  assistance ;  they  were  too  busily 
engaged  in  sending  down  the  royal-mast  and 
top-gallant-yards,  close-reefing  topsail,  bending 
storm-stay-sails,  and  making  "all  snitg,"  to  re- 
ceive the  coming  tempest,  full  warning  of  which 
Avas  given  in  the  most  unequivocal  and  terrific 
forms.  The  air  felt  hot  and  thick— you  could 
actually  touch  it  —  the  swell  increased;  and 
when  the  helpless  ship  rolled  over  the  sullen 
liquid  hi.lls,  the  little  sail  she  carried  flapped 
against  the  masts,  w«hich  shook  to  their  founda- 
tions, as  she  tumbled,  as  it  were,  into  the  abyss, 
which  seemed  yawning  to  receive  her.  It  was 
about  ten  o'clock  in  the  day,  but  pitch-black 
clouds,  so  slowly  moving  that  you  couldn't  see 
them  move,  appeared  to  crawl  all  over  us  from 
every  point — "  above,  about,  or  underneath" — 
and  in  a  minute  we  were  in  "darkness  more 
dread  than  niglrt." 

You  could  not  see  your  hand,  nor  the  ropes  to 
which  you  clung  with  instinctive  horror;  weath- 
er-beaten "old  sea  dogs"  trembled  and  stood 
aghast,  mumbled  out  God,  and  mixed  up  pray- 
ers and  oaths  in  whispers.  Suddenly  the  zig- 
zag lightning  seemed  to  tear  asunder  the  curtains 
of  eternity,  plash  on  the  deck,  and  struggle  at 
your  feet!  And,  on  the  instant,  thunder,  "  so 
loud  and  dread"  it  shook  your  very  heart,  made 
you  hold  your  breath,  and  feel  both  deaf  and 
Wind. 


We  heard  it  rushing  on  Us !  "Look  out  there, 
men;  take  care  of  yourselves!"  was  a  broad  hint 
from  our  jolly  fat-headed  captain  lor  all  my  val- 
iant party,  with  the  exception  of  worthy  John 
Hallam  and  little  Sinker,  to  tumble  head  over 
heels  below — and  well  they  did.  It  struck  us 
forward,  and  with  such  overwhelming  violence 
we  could  feel  her  tremble  to  the  core,  as  she  in- 
stantly keeled  over  on  her  side.  The  sea  was 
fairly  lifted  up  and  hurled  over  us  in  torrents, 
with  a  noise  so  great  and  uniform  it  knocked  all 
sound  out  of  the  world;  we  could  not  hear,  and 
we  could  not  see,  but  when  the  instantaneous 
flash  showed  a  glimpse  of  horror  which  made  us 
shut  our  eyes.  By  the  gasping  sensation  in  my 
throat,  I  believed  she  was  quietly  settling  down, 
and  all  was  over.  I  could  not  pray  for  cursing 
my  foolhardiness  in  not  skulking  below  with 
the  rest,  and  being  drowned  with  my  wife  and. 
children.  I  had  lashed  myself  to  the  belaying- 
pins,  near  the  weather  mizzen  rigging,  and  was 
literally  hanging  over  the  "  black  profound,"  and 
to  stir  from  thence  with  life  was  impossible.  How 
long  we  were  in  this  predicament  I  cannot  even 
guess  at,  but,  of  course,  not  long — real  hurri- 
canes do  not  last  long.  The  ship  seemed  to  la- 
bour to  get  her  keel  once  more  under  water, 
and  by  the  more  frequent  but  less  effulgent 
flashes  of  lightning  we  could  see  the  fore-top- 
mast, yard  and  all,  hanging  overboard,  but  not  a 
vestige,  on  the  leeward  side,  of  the  poor  horses 
nor  their  stables ;  but  on  the  other  I  fancied  I  still 
saw  a  head  or  two.  The  mountain-like  waves 
had  been  blown  into  something  like  smooth 
water  by  the  extraordinary  violence  of  the  wind, 
which  had  greatly  abated,  though  it  still  blew 
tremendously.  The  clouds  began  to  separate, 
producing  a  supernatural  kind  of  light,  which 
would  be  considered  awful  even  in  the  last  scene 
of  a  melodrame.  Close  by  me  I  found  the  cap- 
tain made  fast,  without  his  hat,  and  the  mate 
and  several  of  the  crew  huddled  together  around 
the  mizzenmast.  I  could  see  them  screeching 
to  each  other,  and  the  mate,  a  capital  sailor — I 
wish  I  could  remember  his  name — partly  tum- 
bled and  partly  rolled  from  his  moorings,  and 
with  a  desperate  effort,  with  life  or  death  at  the 
ends  of  his  fingers,  caught  hold  of  the  ropes  be- 
layed to  the  main  bitts,  jerked  himself  forward, 
seized  the  lashings  of  the  long-boat,  which  still 
maintained  her  station,  though  emptied  of  her 
contents — two  learned  ponies — crawled  along 
under  the  lee  of  her  gunwale,  and,  with  some- 
thing like  the  agility  of  a  drunken  monkey, 
gained  the  weather  fore  rigging,  and  with  the 
assistance  of  two  of  the  crew,  who 

"  Claimed  the  danger,  proud  of  skilful  hands," 

the  wreck  was  cleared  from  the  ship,  and  she 
righted !  A  good  imitation  of  a  storm-staysail 
was  with  some  difficulty  rigged  and  set,  and  a 
mizzen  topsail,  and  she  was  once  more  under 
some  control,  and  very  nearly  the  right  side  up- 
ward. 

All  the  horses  on  the  side  that  had  been  under 
water,  of  course,  were  gone 

"  No  man  knows  whither,'1'' 

with  the  exception  of  a  pretty  little  mare  called 
Fanny.  Poor  Fanny !  she  was  named  after  an 
angel  in  heaven  now.  She  was  nearest  the  bow, 
and  had,  through  fright,  accident,  or  instinct,  got 
her  fore  feet  over  the  spar,  intended  to  secure 
the  stalls  in  front,  and  when  the  ship  lay  over, 
some  booms  and  masts  belonging  to  the  vessel 
had  shifted,  and  jambing  against  her  legs,  had 


PASSED   AMONG    THE    PLAYERS. 


69 


there  held  her  fast ;  though  skinned  and  torn,  no 
bones  were  broken,  and  in  this  cruel  manner  her 
life  was  saved.  On  shore  a  similar  accident 
would  have  sealed  her  death-warrant — but  wlio 
could  give  an  order  for  her  execution  then  ?  Char- 
ley Lee  was  her  doctor,  and  she  recoTOred  suf- 
ficiently to  be  made  a  pet  of.  To  windward, 
three  of  the  horses,  wonderful  to  relate,  were 
still  on  their  legs,  Platoff,  Wellington,  and  Jack- 
son. They  were  rightly  named.  They  stood  next 
each  other,  and  the  farthest  forward,  near  where 
the  hurricane  first  struck  us,  and  where  even 
now  the  "  ruffian  billows"  were 

"  Curling  their  monstrous  heads,  and  hanging  them. 
With  deafning  clamours,  in  the  slippery  shrouds." 

Of  the  remaining  six  two  were  still  alive — Julia 
and  poor  old  Jack — though  dreadfully  mangled, 
and  lying  panting  and  groaning  in  a  heap  with 
their  dead  companions:  as  soon  as  possible, 
with  the  assistance  of  the  crew,  Hallam  ami 
Stoker  got  them  overboard. 

Soaked  to  the  backbone  and  stupified,  I  scram- 
bled below  ;  and  there  a  beautiful  scene  present- 
ed itself.  There  had  not  been  time  to  batten 
down  the  hatchway  after  my  lubbers  had  made 
their  retreat,  and,  in  consequence,  tons  of  water 
at  a  time  had  been  thrown  down,  to  the  amaze- 
ment and  dismay  of  those  between  decks;  and 
men,  boxes,  beds,  and  barrels  of  oats  were  float- 
ing about  in  "  most  admired  disorder." 

Alarm  for  my  absence  had  diverted  from  the 
mind  of  my  wife  all  terror  for  the  real  danger, 
and  my  children  were  too  young  to  understand 
it;  therefore,  my  reappearance  made  all  right  in 
an  instant  "at  home,"  and  a  "thundering  stiff" 
glass  of  grog  and  a  dry  shirt  soon  restored  me  to 
myself.  The  companion  gangway  having  been 
secured,  the  cabin  was  all  tight  and  dry,  and  so 
were  the  ladies,  I  suppose;  for  on  my  arrival  at 
Charleston,  I  lound  a  barrel  of  bottled  Scotch 
ale,  which  my  friend  John  Boyde  had  put  up  for 
me,  and  placed  in  the  cabin  for  safe  keeping, 
full  of  empty  bottles.  Old  Jones  and  his  wife 
were  hugging  one  another  in  a  corner  of  my 
state-room;  misery  loves  company,  and  they 
had  crawled  from  their  own  to  make  up  a  pleas- 
ant party  for  the  other  world.  Sam  Wisdom, 
my  master  carpenter,  a  fellow  six  feet  and  a  half 
high,  and  stout  in  proportion,  was  sitting  in  his 
shirt  on  the  deck  a  foot  deep  in  water,  like  a 
wringing  wet  mandarin,  blubbering  over  his 
children,  and  persuading  the  poor  little  innocent 
creatures  that  they  were  going  to  be  drowned 
along  with  "  poor  pa"  in  a  few  minutes! 

The  gale  having  sensibly  abated,  all  made 
snug,  and  the  ship  hove  to,  part  of  the  hands 
were  set  to  bail  and  swab.  Henry  Isherwood 
was  discovered  coiled  away  in  his  berth,  for- 
ward, half  smothered  in  wet  oats,  and  immedi- 
ately reported  to  me  as  "killed."  When  the 
ship  was  thrown  on  her  beam-ends,  some  barrels 
of  "feed"  for  the  horses,  piled  up  in  midships, 
had  been  tumbled  over,  and  one  of  the  heads 
coming  in  contact  with  his,  had  started,  and  its 
contents  emptied  all  over  him  ;  and  the  sea  rush- 
ing down  the  gangway  at  the  same  time,  he, 
stunned  with  the  blow,  believed  he  was  drown- 
ed, and,  in  his  own  mind,  had  quietly  given  up 
the  ghost.  "Don't  touch  me,"  said  he:  "oh, 
don't  touch  me  ;  it's  all  over  with  me ;  my  brains 
are  knocked  out ;"  placing  his  hand  to  his  head, 
and  looking  up  most  piteously.  Sure  enough,  he 
appeared  in  a  woful  plight :  large  black  streaks, 
resembling  congealed  blood,  were  trickling  down 
his  pale  face,  and  I  had  no  doubt  but  that  his 


scull  was  split  open;  but  on  examining  more 
closely,  we  found  the  clotted  blood  to  be  nothing 
more  than  diluted  molasses-candy,  a  large  cake 
of  which  was  still  fast  in  his  hair.  His  father 
had  been  a  confectioner,  and  inheriting  his  par- 
tiality for  sweets,  he  had  provided  himself  with 
a  large  stock  for  the  trip;  which  had  fallen  from 
a  ledge  where  it  was  "  safely  stowed,"  by  the 
side  of  his  berth,  and,  in  his  fright,  he  had  slapped 
his  head  into  it. 

The  gale  continued  with  more  or  less  violence 
for  five  days,  the  ship  hove  to  all  the  time.  Our 
captain  had  had  no  experience  on  that  coast,  and 
the  weather  not  permitting  an  observation  to  be 
taken,  he  didn't  know  which  way  to  run,  so  pa- 
tiently awaited  the  termination  of  the  tempest. 

The  company  became  accustomed  to  "  the 
great  contention  of  the  sea  and  skies;"  and  Hal- 
lam's  favourite  slut  "  Molly"  having  produced 
a  fine  litter  of  pups  in  the  hour  of  peril,  amply 
repaid  that  worthy  fellow  for  all  his  toil  and 
danger.  Platoff  and  Wellington  both  died  be- 
fore the  termination  of  the  blow;  but  old  Jack- 
son stuck  it  out  till  we  got  into  smooth  water, 
and  then,  as  Billy  Rider  said,  "  Poor  creature, 
he  kicked  the  bucket  in  comfort,  any  how." 

After  mistaking  Georgetown  light  for  Charles- 
ton, and  bumping  us  half  to  pieces  on  Frying- 
pan  Shoals,  we  succeeded  in  reaching  our  des- 
tined port,  in  the  "  ship  Orbit,  Captain  Fish,  fif- 
teen days  from  Baltimore,  with  loss  of  a  deck- 
load  of  horses." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"  But  ye  !  ye  are  changed  since  I  saw  you  last ; 
The  shadow  of  ages  has  round  you  been  cast ; 
Ye  are  changed — ye  are  changed — and  I  see  not  here 
What  I  once  saw  in  the  long-vanish'd  year." 

Mns.  IIemans 

"Alas!  poor  gentleman, 
He  look'd  not  like  the  ruins  of  his  youth, 
liut  like  the  ruin  of  those  ruins." — John  Ford. 

Leaving  the  ship,  as  a  climax,  thumping  on 
the  bar  with  which  Nature  has  defended  a  har- 
bour in  appearance  only  excelled  by  the  Bay  of 
Naples,  the  Cove  of  Cork,  and  perhaps  equalled 
by  New- York,  the  custom-house  officer  politely 
landed  myself  and  family  at  the  Battery  in  his 
boat.  As  recommended,  I  took  up  my  abode  at 
the  Broad-street  House,  an  excellent  hotel,  con- 
sidered the  first  in  the  city,  and,  to  my  surprise, 
kept  by  a  gray-headed  negro  called  Jones.  I 
found  letters  from  Simpson,  as  yet,  of  course, 
ignorant  of  the  loss,  stating  that,  depending  on 
the  high  reputation  of  the  vessel,  he  had  saved 
the  expense  of  ensurance,  which  he  had  under- 
taken to  effect  in  New- York  at  a  much  lower 
rate  than  I  could  get  it  done  in  Baltimore.  It 
seemed  as  if  we  had  struck  a  vein  of  bad  luck. 
Another  "discontented  paper"  gave  me  an  ac- 
count of  Kean's  having  been  driven  from  the 
stage  in  that  city,  and  inquiring  if,  under  the  cir- 
cumstances, his  engagement  had  not  better  be 
cancelled.  The  painful  responsibility  of  my  po- 
sition at  this  juncture  is  even  now  irksome  to 
refer  to:  a  large  amount  of  property,  owned  by 
various  individuals,  exclusively  at  my  disposal, 
and  deprived,  by  distance,  of  their  advice  or  as- 
sistance. To  the  performers,  whose  travelling 
expenses  we  paid,  and  a  salary  every  Saturday 
in  the  year,  I  was  indebted,  in  consequence  of  the 
length  of  the  journey,  nearly  three  thousand  dol- 
lars.   A  very  doubtlul  point  if  Kean  would  be 


70 


THIRTY   YEARS 


received,  and  without  him,  my  company,  select- 
ed exclusively  for  his  support,  most  unfit  to  play 
even  a  saving  game ;  the  very  sinews  of  attrac- 
tion torn  from  the  circus,  and  the  man-end  of  my 
numerous  Centaurs  walking  about  with  nothing 
but  theiT  hands  in  their  pockets,  and  heavy  wa- 
ges hourly  accumulating. 

I  was  seated  at  the  dinner-table,  making  be- 
lieve to  eat,  when  a  servant  handed  me  a  note. 

The   address  "  To Howell,  Esq.,"  would 

have  prevented  my  examining  the  contents,  but 
that  the  man  assured  me  I  was  the  person  in- 
tended.    It  ran  as  follows : 

"  Colonel  M'Clane  presents  his  compliments 
to  Mr.  Howell :  through  the  newspapers  has 
heard  of  his  loss,  and  begs  he  will  send  some  of 
his  riders  to  select  from  his  stable  as  many  horses 
as  he  may  consider  likely  to  aid  him  in  opening 
his  circus.  He  has  a  number  of  horses,  and 
-among  them  some  well  adapted  for  the  purpose; 
and  all,  or  any,  are  at  Mr.  Howell's  service,  for 
as  long  as  he  may  have  occasion  for  them. 

"  Charleston,  Wednesday." 

This  from  a  stranger,  who  did  not  even  know 
my  name,  spoke  the  current  language  of  the 
•warm-hearted  natives  of  South  Carolina.  I,  of 
course,  accepted  the  offer,  and  in  an  hour  the 
grooms,  with  much  glee,  paraded  under  my  win- 
dow some  dozen  animals,  as  beautiful  as  were 

"  E'er  created,  to  be  awed  by  man." 

Cheered  by  this  unsought-for  proof  of  kindness, 
I  addressed  a  commonplace  note — for  I  despise 
the  usual  "  yovr-pctitioncr-mll-cver-praij"  appli- 
cation— to  the  intendant  and  wardens,  to  request, 
tinder  the  circumstances,  a  diminution  of  the 
usual  sum  charged  for  a  license  for  each  estab- 
lishment; and  the  next  morning  I  received  the 
following : 

"  City  Council,  February  7,  1826. 
"Read  a  letter  from  Joe  Cowell,  requesting 
Council  to  remit  a  portion  of  the  license  impo- 
sed on  the  Theatre  and  Circus  for  the  ensuing 
season. 

"Resolved,  that  the  whole  of  the  license  be 
remitted.    Extract  from  the  minutes. 

"  William  Roach, 
"  Joe  Cmeell,  Esq."  "  Clerk  of  Council. 

This  was  five  hundred  dollars  saved,  and, 
what  was  almost  as  valuable,  a  farther  proof  of 
a  strong  public  feeling  in  my  favour.  I  instant- 
ly wrote  to  Simpson  to  send  me  Kean, 

"  With  all  his  imperfections  on  his  head," 

having  hope  that  the  interest  created  by  the 
drowned  horses  would  gain  him  leave  to  swim. 
I  have  an  objection  to  publish  a  letter  intended 
by  the  writer  only  for  the  perusal  of  the  party  to 
whom  it  is  directed.  But  the  following  laconic 
epistle  so  much  better  conveys  an  insight  of  the 
character  of  my  friend  Simpson  than  any  de- 
scription that  I  might  undertake  to  write,  that  1 
cannot  forbear  making  it  public: 

"New-York,  February  13,  1826. 
"  Dear  Joe, 

"  The  Othello  reported  the  ship  Orbit  on 
Charleston  bar,  with  the  loss  of  a  deck-load  of 
horses,  before  I  got  your  melancholy  letter. 
God  be  praised,  we  can  stand  it!  I  didn't  en- 
sure, depending,  as  I  said  in  my  former  letter, 
on  the  high  reputation  of  the  vessel.  Keep  up 
your  spirits.  I'm  sure  you  will  get  out  of  the 
scrape  somehow.     Yours  truly,    E.  Simpson. 

"What  shall  we  do  about  Keanl" 


This  from  the  largest  sufferer,  and  the  most 
responsible  of  the  firm,  in  case  of  a  failure, 
speaks  volumes  in  proof  of  the  calm,  Atlas-like 
support  with  which,  for  so  many  years,  he  sus- 
tained the  fortunes  of  the  Park  Theatre. 

The  «mateur  horses,  whose  "  very  failings 
set  them  oft',"  were  an  attraction.  Dr.  Porcher, 
Mr.  Kennedy,  and  several  gentlemen,  followed 
the  example  of  the  colonel,  and  parties  were 
made  up,  by  persons  xvho  had  never  before  vis- 
ited a  circus,  to  see  how  a  favourite  horse  would 
behave  in  the  ring.  The  inefficiency  of  my  the- 
atrical corps  was  hoodwinked  by  sympathy  for 
my  misfoitunes,  and  we  performed,  in  conse- 
quence, to  much  better  business  than  we  prob- 
ably should  have  done  had  we  offered  a  supe- 
rior entertainment,  without  the  difficulties  at- 
tending its  preparation. 

Every  means  in  my  power  I  artfully  used  to 
smooth  the  path  for  Kean's  reception ;  having  it 
generally  understood  by  the  public  that  on  his 
success  was  hinged  the  hope  of  redeeming  my 
fallen  fortunes.  But  still  the  Eastern  papers 
were  torturing  his  offence  into  a  national  insult, 
and  calling  on  the  chivalry  of  the  South  to 
avenge  the  wrongs  this  immoral  play-actor  had 
heaped  upon  the  country!  I  had  determined 
that  there  should  be  no  time  allowed  to  organize 
a  plan  of  hostility,  at  any  rate,  by  having  the 
bills  already  printed,  announcing  "  Kea?t's ;  first 
appearance  this  evening"  and  intending,  no  mat- 
ter when  he  arrived,  that  he  should  perform  the 
same  night;  but  in  this  point  of  policy  I  was 
in  part  defeated,  by  the  ship  Othello,  in  which 
Simpson  had  advised  me  he  was  a  passenger, 
being  reported  "  below"  early  on  a  Sunday 
morning.  I  boarded  the  vessel  before  she  cross- 
ed the  bar,  and  found  this  wreck  of  better  days 
feeble  in  body,  and  that  brilliant,  poetic  face,  a 
Raphael  might  have  envied  for  a  study,  "sick- 
lied o'er  with  the  pale  cast  of  thought."  His 
first  inquiry  was,  if  the  public  were  hostile  to 
his  appearing;  and  like  a  child  he  appealed  to 
me:  "Cowell,  for  God's  sake  —  by  the  ties  of 
old  fellowship  and  countrymen — I  entreat  you 
not  to  let  me  play,  if  you  think  the  audience 
will  not  receive  me.  I  have  not  strength  of 
mind  or  body  —  look  how  I'm  changed  since 
you  saw  me  last — to  endure  a  continuance  of  the. 
persecutions  I  have  already  endured,  and  I  be- 
lieve a  repetition  of  them  would  kill  me  on  the 
spot." 

I,  of  course,  encouraged  him  to  hope  all  would 
go  well;  but  on  landing  from  the  boat,  some 
twenty  idlers  collected,  and  as  we  turned  from, 
the  wharf,  hissed  and  groaned;  the  well-known, 
hateful  sound  seemed  to  enter  his  very  soul,  and 
looking  up  in  my  face,  with  " God  help  me!" 
quivering  on  his  parted  lips,  he  clung  to  my  arm, 
as  if  for  succour,  not  support.  I  assured  him 
the  disapprobation  was  meant  for  an  officer  of 
the  customs,  in  whose  boat  we  had  landed,  who 
was  objectionable  to  the  people;  and  doubting, 
yet  hoping  it  was  true,  I  conducted  him  to  my 
house  next  to  the  theatre,  which  had  been  left 
handsomely  furnished  by  the  improvident  Gil- 
fert,  and  which  I  had  hired  for  the  season. 

He  passed  the  day  with  me  and  some  new- 
found friends,  and  made  himself,  as  lie  always 
could  when  he  thought  proper,  most  agreeable. 

"  The  sweetest  morsel  of  the  nigh!  we  left  unpick- 
ed," and  early  in  the  evening  I  conducted  him  to 
his  quarters  which  1  had  prepared  for  him  at 
Jones's.  He  was  delighted  with  his  black  land- 
lord, and  astonished  to  find  that  a  negro  could 


PASSED   AMONG   THE   PLAYERS. 


71 


amass  a  fortune,  and  possess  all  the  rational  ad- 
vantages of  a  well-behaved  white  man,  in  the 
same  situation  ol  life,  in  a  slave  state.  His  no- 
tions of  slavery  had  more  than  likely  been  al- 
together formed  by  acting  in  the  opera  of  Paul 
and  Virginia. 

Though  most  comfortably  lodged,  he  assured 
me  the  ucxi  day  he  had  never  closed  his  eyes; 
his  anxiety  had  brought  alone  such  rest 

11  As  wretches  have  o'er  night 
Who  wait  for  execution  in  the  morn." 

What  would  be  the  night's  event,  who  could 
tell?  The  public  is  a  hard  riddle  to  find  out, 
but  when  you  do  happen  to  hit  upon  it,  how  sim- 
ple it  is.  Fifty  friends  gave  fifty  different  opin- 
ions, each  with  an  "if"  so  that  each  might  after 
say,  "  There,  I  told  you  so."  For  my  own  part, 
I,  of  course,  most  earnestly  desired  his  success, 
and  therefore  honestly  believed  his  genius  would 
triumph. 

Not  a  place  was  taken,  but  the  house  was 
.filled  soon  after  the  doors  were  opened.  Before 
it  was  uncomfortably  crowded,  I  stopped  the  sale 
of  tickets,  for  nothing  puts  an  auditor  so  soon 
out  of  humour  as  a  disagreeable  seat. 

Kean  had  set  his  "soul  and  body  on  the  ac- 
tion both,"  and  I  never  saw  him  play  better.  At 
his  entrance,  all  was  "  hushed  as  midnight"— a 
quiet  so  profound  "that  the  blind  mole  might 
not  hear  a  footfall;"  and  this  awful  attention 
continued  during  the  whole  performance,  when- 
ever he  was  on  the  stage;  and  when  the  curtain 
fell,  some  few  "amazed  spectators  hummed  ap- 
plause." There  was  but  one  ladij  in  Ike  whole 
house  I  the  wife  of  the  district  attorney,  and  a 
warm  friend  to  the  drama.  Woman,  in  thy  pu- 
riiy,  how  powerful  thou  art !  The  presence  oi'  this 
one  acted  like  a  charm.  She  sat  alone,  the 
beauteous  representative  of  the  moral  courage 
of  her  sex,  and  awed  to  respectful  silence  the 
predetermined  turbulence  of  twelve  hundred 
men ! 

Poor  Kean  was  in  ecstasies  at  his  escape. 
The  next  morning  nearly  all  the  places  were 
secured  for  Wednesday,  and  a  splendid  house- 
ful of  ladies,  as  well  as  gentlemen,  assembled  to 
witness  his  master-piece,  Othello.  At  his  en- 
trance, some  ill-advised  applause  was  instantly 
drowned  in  a  shower  of  hisses  ;  and  in  the  early 
portion  of  the  play,  several  sudden  expressions 
of  disapprobation  occurred  ;  and  in  the  third 
act,  at  nearly  the  end  of  his  fine  scene  with  Iago, 
the  storm  so  long  pent  up  burst  forth ;  some  or- 
anges, thrown  on  the  stage,  appeared  to  be  the 
signal  for  a  general  tumult 

"  Of  roaring,  shrieking,  howling, 
With  strange  and  several  noises," 

in  the  midst  of  which  I  had  the  curtain  lowered, 
opened  the  stage  door,  and  presented  myself  to 
the  audience.  It  was  my  intention  to  have  made 
an  appeal  to  their  indulgence  on  my  own  ac- 
count ;  but  remembering 

"  The  silence,  often,  of  pure  innocence 
Persuades  when  speaking  fails," 

I  assumed  as  innocent  an  appearance  as  I  knew 
how,  proceeded  quietly  and  slowly  to  pick  up 
the  atoms  of  oranges  "and  apples,  looked  unut- 
terable things,  and  once 

"  /  lifted  up  my  head,  and  did  address 
Myself  in  motion,  like  as  /  would  speak  ; 
But  even  then — " 

I  bowed  myself  across  the  stage  and  departed, 
amid  thunders  of  applause !  and,  before  it  had 
subsided,  thrust  Kean  on  with  Desdemona,  who, 


"  As  a  child,  would  go  by  my  direction  ;" 
and  the  same  people  who,  a  minute  before,  were 
pelting  him  with  rubbish,  rose  on  their  seats, 
and  with  "caps,  hands,  and  tongues,  applauded 
to  the  clouds."  and  the  play  proceeded  with  un- 
disputed approbation ! !  At  the  end,  Kean  was 
loudly  called  for;  but,  from  experience,  know- 
ing that  for  him  to  open  his  mouth,  tilled  with 
language  of  his  own,  would  probably  ruin  all, 
I  pleaded  his  exhaustion  as  an  excuse  for  his 
making  me  the  means  to  express  -the  grateful 
sense  he  had  of  their  kindness,  and  tendered  his 
respectful  acknowledgments. 

The  next  day  some  of  the  first  men  in  the  city 
left  him  their  cards;  dinner-parties  were  made 
expressly  for  him  ;  carriages  were  proffered  for 
his  use;  the  rarities  of  the  season  or  climate 
poured  in  upon  him;  and  the  numerous  atten- 
tions shown  him  by  the  kind,  yet  aristocratic 
inhabitants  of  Charleston,  equalled,  and  were 
more  gratifying  to  his  feelings,  than  the  hollow- 
hearted  homage  paid  to  him  by  a  crowd  of  flat- 
terers in  the  sunshine  of  his  career.  He  receiv- 
ed fifty  pounds  sterling  per  night:  that  is,  two 
hundred  and  twenty-two  dollars  and  twenty-two 
cents;  but  our  profits,  notwithstanding,  went  far 
towards  redeeming  the  pecuniary  part  of  our 
losses. 

I  had  some  really  talented  people  in  my  em- 
ploy; but,  from  the  want  of  numbers,  many  of 
my  grooms  and  riders  had  to  be  trusted  with 
subordinate  characters,  and  their  Shaksperian 
blunders  were  actually  serviceable  in  keeping 
the  audience  in  good  humour.  Charley  Lee — 
the  father  of  the  now  juvenile  rival  to  Ellsler — 
a  most  valuable  creature  in  a  stable,  and  excel- 
lent in  a  monkey,  performed  one  of  the  officers 
in  King  Lear,  and  in  reply  to  Kean's  saying, 

"  I  killed  the  slave  :  did  I  not,  fellow  ?" 

answered,  in  his  natty  manner, 

"  'Tis  true,  my  lord  !  see  where  the  good  king 
Has  slew'd  two  on  'em  !" 

My  king  was  an  ignorant,  dissipated  brute, 
whom  I  had,  unfortunately,  engaged  on  his  own 
recommendation.  His  incapacity  was  most 
vexatious,  but  sometimes  very  droll.  As  Dun- 
can, where  Lady  Macbeth  enters  to  receive 
him  at  the  Castle,  instead  of  a  speech  of  some 
four  or  five  lines,  he  merely  said,  "Ah!  here's 
the  hostess  !  we  thank  you  for  your  trouble." 
And  after  her  speech,  in  lieu  of  continuing  the 
dialogue,  in  a  pompous  but  familiar  manner  he 
said,  "Where's  Cawderl  Is  he  not  home  yet"? 
Well,  no  matter ;  we'll  sleep  with  you  to-night. 
Give  me  your  hand;  walk  in,  madam;  we  in- 
tend to  be  very  particular  with  yen;"  and  off  he 
went,  with  a  good  laugh  at  his  heels.  His 
King,  in  Hamlet,  could  not  be  described.  In  the 
last  scene,  after  mixing  up  "  the  kettles  and  the 
trumpets,  the  cannons,  the  thunder,  and  the 
heavens,"  in  a  most  ludicrous  manner,  he  ended 
with,  "Stop  a  minute!  give  me  the  cup;  here's 
your  good  health  !  Come,  Hamlet,  take  a  drink." 

The  easy,  tavern-style  in  which  this  was  said 
was  too  much  for  Kean's  gravity;  the  audience 
caught  the  laugh  from  him,  and  the  curtain 
went  down,  as  it  ought  to  do,  at  the  termination 
of  a  verv  broad  farce;  but  it  ended  his  career  with 
me.  The  next  day  I  gave  him  two  weeks'  sal- 
ary, paid  las  passage  to  New- York,  and  have 
never  seen  the  poor  devil  since. 

Kean  was  so  delighted  with  the  place  and  the 
people  that  he  determined  to  remain  until  the 
season  was  concluded.    A  friend  gave  him  the 


72 


THIRTY    YEARS 


use  of  a  country  house  on  Sullivan's  Island — a 
most  romantic  sandbank  in  the  centre  of  the 
harbour.  With  two  Newfoundland  dogs  of 
mine,  a  pet  deer,  and  the  Fanny  marc,  he  was 
"alone  in  his  glory;"  for  it  was  literally  unin- 
habited in  the  winter,  with  the  exception  of  a 
few  soldiers  in  the  fort.  He  played  Bertram  for 
my  benefit,  on  the  last  night,  to  the  largest 
amount  then  ever  received  at  the  Charleston 
Theatre.  He  took  his  passage  with  me  in  the 
ship  Saluda,  and  with 

"  Calm  seas,  auspicious  gales,  and  sail  so  expeditious," 
that  in  three  days,  recruited  in  mind  and  body, 
he  arrived  at  New- York,  "  in  the  merry  month 
of  May,"  1826. 

Poor  Kean !  I  never  more  saw  him  act ;  and 
though,  for  years  after,  his  brightness  flickered  at 
intervals  on  the  gloomy  path  of  the  declining 
drama,  it  never  blazed  again  with  its  uniform, 
unequalled  brilliancy.  His  neglected  early  life 
had  grafted  habits  on  his  nature  totally  at  vari- 
ance with  his  pure  poetic  taste,  and  giant-like 
strength  of  admiration  of  all  that  was  great  and 
noble  in  art,  and  made  him  the  contradictory, 
and,  at  times,  objectionable  creature  which,  in 
general,  he  is  so  exclusively  described.  The 
truth  of  the  adage  in  his  case  was  painfully  pro- 
ved :  Ac  kmio  not  iclw  was  his  father.  When  all 
the  thinking  world  were  awe-struck  in  contem- 
plating his  genius,  several  were  named  as  hav- 
ing a  title  to  that  honour,  and  among  them  the 
late  Duke  of  Norfolk ;  and  Kean  was  weak 
enough  to  appear  proud  of  this  parental  appro- 
priation. A  Mrs.  Carey,  who  was  an  inferior 
actress  at  one  of  the  minor  theatres,  claimed  him 
as  her  son ;  and  whether  he  believed  her  to  be 
his  mother  or  not,  he  supported  her  and  her 
daughter  for  years. 

The  startling  effect  of  his  style  of  acting,  bold- 
ly and  suddenly  setting  at  defiance  the  law  and 
decorum  of  the  long-accustomed  school  of  which 
a  Siddons  and  a  Kemble  were  the  models,  can- 
not be  conceived  at  this  day,  where  every  aspi- 
rant to  dramatic  fame  totters  in  the  path  his 
genius  boldly  trod,  and  "drags  at  each  remove 
a  lengthening  chain;"  for,  though  he  left  behind 
no  parallel  to  his  excellence,  he  created  a  host 
of  imitators,  down  to  the  third  and  fourth  gener- 
ation. The  novelty  of  his  manner  may  be  un- 
derstood by  the  following  anecdote,  which  he 
told  me  himself.  At  his  first  rehearsal  at  Drury 
Lane,  "steeped  in  poverty  to  the  very  lips," 
■wrapped  in  an  old,  rough  greatcoat — though  it 
was  warm  weather — and  his  appearance  alto- 
gether bespeaking  his  estate,  several  of  the  well- 
clothed  and  well-fed  minions  of  the  drama  did 
not  condescend  to  rehearse  with  him  at  all ;  and 
those  who  did,  refused  to  deviate  from  the  ac- 
customed business  of  the  stage,  which,  right  or 
•wrong,  they  had  followed  for  years,  and  turned 
into  unconcealed  ridicule  his  temerity  in  presu- 
ming to  suggest  any  alteration  of  the  acknowl- 
edged laws.  Among  others,  he  particularly 
named  De  Camp — he,  poor  fellow,  long  since 
died  of  a  dysentery,  mixed  up  with  old  age  and 
abject  poverty,  in  Texas!  He  eloquently,  yet 
playfully,  described  the  laceration  of  his  feelings 
at  hearing  his  peculiarities  of  voice  imitated  be- 
hind the  scenes,  accompanied  by 

:'The  loud  laugh,  that  speaks  the  vacant  mind." 

Amid  these  "outward  and  visible  signs"  of  con- 
tempt for  his  talent,  old  Miss  Tidswell,  who  had 
played  small  characters  in  the  theatre  since  Gar- 
rick's  time,  I  believe,  and  who  afterward  called 


herself  his  aunt,  poked  him  in  the  back  with  her 
umbrella  "to  entreat  listening,"  beckoned  him 
to  the  wing,  and  petitioned  him  not  to  persevers 
in  playing:  explaining,  that  all  the  actors  and 
good  judges  were  laughing  at  him;  and  point- 
ing out  to  him  the  horrible  disgrace  of  his  inev- 
itably being  pelted  from  the  stage  would  be  to  her, 
as  she  had  acknowledged  him  as  a  distant  rela- 
tion, and  introduced  him  as  such  to  some  per- 
formers of  her  own  class  in  the  second  green- 
room ! ! 

Wounded  in  spirit,  he  left  the  theatre,  half  in- 
clined to  follow  her  advice;  not  in  consequence 
of  any  doubt  in  his  own  mind  of  his  capacity — 
for  true  talent  is  always  self-informed — but  to 
shrink  from  the  dirty  annoyances  attending  its 
assertion.  But,  fortunately,  he  met  at  the  door 
an  old  comrade,  from  some  country  theatre,  to 
whom  he  unburdened  his  "  o'er-fraught  heart," 
and  the  poor  disciple  of  Thespis  being  in  pos- 
session of  the  extraordinary  sum  of  five  shillings, 
Kean  accompanied  him  to  a  tavern.  After  a 
good  dinner,  a  pot  of  porter,  and  the  warm  en- 
couragement of  his  ragged  but  sincere  friend, 
he  went  to  the  theatre,  desperate  in  his  determi- 
nation to  succeed;  played  Shylock  to  a  very  in- 
different house,  but  sealed  his  fame  forever. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"  The  first  tragedians  found  that  serious  style 
Too  grave  for  their  uncultivated  age, 
And  so  brought  wild  and  naked  satyrs  in 
(Whose  motions,  words,  and  shape  were  all  a  farce) 
As  oft  as  decency  would  give  them  leave  ; 
Because  the  mad,  ungovernable  rout, 
Full  of  confusion  and  the  fumes  of  wine, 
Loved  such  variety  and  antic  tricks." 

Roscommon's  Horace. 

Booth,  though  not  a  servile  imitator  of  Kean, 
founded  his  manner  exclusively  on  his  style. 
He  played  precisely  the  same  round  of  charac- 
ters, dressed  them  exactly  in  the  same  costume, 
and,  being  naturally  like  him  in  appearance,  the 
similitude  was  extraordinary.  Kean's  trans- 
cendent genius  had  so  dazzled  the  public  taste, 
that  his  defects  of  voice  and  figure,  "  by  the  aid 
of  use,"  were  actually  considered  necessary  at- 
tributes, and  Booth  possessed  the  same  advan- 
tages. Old  Dowton  morosely  said,  when  Kean 
first  appeared,  "  God  renounce  me !  'tis  only  ne- 
cessary nowadays  to  be  under  four  feet  high, 
have  bandy  legs,  and  a  hoarseness,  and,  mince 
my  liver !  but  you'll  be  thought  a  great  trage- 
dian." 

Soon  after  Booth's  arrival  in  this  country,  he 
declared  his  intention  of  becoming  a  citizen,  and 
purchased  a  small  farm,  if  it  might  so  be  called, 
near  the  village  of  Belle-air,  in  Maryland — the 
only  steril  section  of  land  I  know  of  in  the 
whole  state;  deposited  his  wife  and  family  in  a 
log  cabin,  and  shone  himself,  periodically,  as  a 
star  of  the  first  magnitude  through  the  theatrical 
hemisphere.  Scrupulously  avoiding  all  osten- 
tatious display,  he  adopted  the  reverse  extreme: 
attired  in  a  conspicuously  plebeian  garb,  he 
would  take  up  his  quarters  at  some  humble  tav- 
ern or  obscure  boarding-house ;  and  when  he 
visited  Baltimore  (being  near  his  home),  he  usu- 
ally attended  the  market  with  some  vegetables, 
a  load  of  hay,  or  sat  with  a  calf,  tied  by  the  leg, 
till  time  to  rehearse  "  Richard  the  Third."  His 
simple  Republican  deportment,  well  spiced,  when 
occasion  served,  with  "the  jolly  dog"  and  "the 
good  fellow,"  who  was  "not  too  proud"  to  sing 


PASSED    AMONG   THE    PLAYERS. 


73 


"  Billy  Taylor"  in  a  beerhouse,  or  give  you  a 
taste  of  his  quality  in  an  oyster-cellar,  rendered 
him  most  popular  with  the  multitude  ;  a  scholar 
and  a  linguist,  he  was  an  intelligent  listener  to 
the  pothouse  pedant,  and  could  "drink  with 
any  linker  in  his  own  language ;"  carefully  con- 
cealing any  advantages  he  possessed  above  the 
capacity  of  his  companions,  his  acquirements 
were  lauded  and  admitted:  for  it  is  the  charac- 
teristic of  the  nation,  as  1  have  read  it,  some- 
times to  allow  a  foreigner  to  be  equal,  but  never 
superior  in  anything.  This  probably  accidental 
mode  of  conduct,  naturally  enough,  compared 
with  his  prototype  Kean's  arbitrary  offences, 
aided  by  Booth's  undisputed  talent,  for  years 
caused  him  to  be  greatly  followed  and  admired. 

His  father,  who  was  a  devotee  to  the  doctrines, 
civil  and  religious,  which  clogged  with  blood 
the  wings  of  liberty  during  the  French  Revolu- 
tion, named  hitn  Junius  Brutus,  as  a  type  of  the 
stern  Republican  character  he  hoped  his  son 
would  achieve ;  and  with  an  excellent  education 
mixed  the  seeds  of  those  dogmas  which,  no  mat- 
ter how  gilded  o'er  by  the  poetic  imaginings  of  a 
Voltaire,  a  Byron,  or  a  Shelley,  are  to  a  mind 
early  tutored  to  adopt  them,  and  undefended  by 
Christianity,  dangerous  to  the  happiness  of  the 
social  compact,  and  fatal  to  the  ties  with  which 
conscience  should  bind  the  intercourse  with  our 
fellow-man. 

It  is  a  dreadful  mischance  to  be  early  cast 
upon  the  world  without  a  guide  or  protector; 
but  worse,  far  worse,  to  have  our  way  of  life 
pointed  out  by  those  in  whose  direction  nature 
tells  us  to  believe,  and  pursue,  at  their  instiga- 
tion, a  path  through  this  world's  pilgrimage  at 
which  our  young,  pure  feeling  hesitates  at  the 
outset,  and  experience  proves  leads  to  a  death- 
bed divested  of  hope  beyond  the  grave. 

Kean's  irregularities  were  coarse  and  brutal, 
but  their  ill  effects  recoiled  exclusively  upon 
himself;  Booth's  involved  the  destiny  of  those 
nearest  and  dearest;  for  years  he  sheltered  him- 
self from  their  consequences  by  assuming  mad- 
ness; and  the  long  practice  of  this  periodical 
"  antic  disposition,"  like  Hamlet's,  ended  in  its 
being,  I  believe,  partially  the  fact.  In  one  of  his 
trips  to  New-Orleans,  two  itinerant  preachers 
were  on  the  same  boat,  whose  zeal  in  distrib- 
uting tracts,  and  obtrusive  interference  with  the 
usual  amusements  on  a  steamer,  made  them 
objectionable  to  all,  but  particularly  to  Booth, 
and  he  invented  the  following  severe  scheme 
of  retaliation.  He  had  a  large  sum  of  money 
about  him,  and,  when  all  were  asleep  in  bed,  he 
placed  his  pocket-book,  with  a  portion  of  the 
notes,  under  the  mattress  of  one  of  the  par- 
sons, and  the  balance,  with  some  papers  easily 
described,  in  the  pocket  of  the  other.  Early  in 
the  morning,  before  the  clergymen  were  up,  he 
loudly  proclaimed  his  loss,  and  a  general  search 
was  ordered  by  the  captain,  to  which  all  cheer- 
fully submitted:  when  the  property  was  found, 
the  astonishment  of  all  could  only  be  equalled 
by  the  supposed  culprits  themselves.  In  vain 
their  protestations  of  innocence;  the  boat  was 
landed,  and  they,  according  to  "  Lynch  law," 
were  to  receive  a  severe  flagellation,  and  then 
De  left  in  the  wilderness.  This,  of  course,  Booth 
could  not  permit,  and  he  explained  the  joke  he 
had  intended,  without  dreaming  of  the  conse- 
quences. 

The  indignation  of  the  passengers,  influenced 
by  their  excited  feelings,  might  fearfully  have 
turned  the  direction  of  their  revenge,  but  that 


"  everybody  knew  Mr.  Booth  was  an  oddity," 
and  "  at  times  supposed  to  be  insane."  A  sketch 
of  his  numerous  eccentricities  would  alone  rill  a 
volume;  but,  being  generally  divested  of  wit  of 
humour,  and,  for  the  most  part,  mischievous  in 
their  character,  an  account  of  them  would  be 
painful  to  either  write  or  read.  I  don't  mean  to 
assert  that  his  having  been  called  alter  the  pat- 
tern of  severe  justice,  who  assumed  the  mask  of 
lolly  in  the  cause  of  virtue,  had  any  influence  on 
the  conduct  of  Booth;  but  baptizing  children  as 
if  to  designate  their  character  is  a  nonsensical 
custom,  and  ought  to  be  condemned.  There  are 
enough  good,  homely  Christian  names,  in  all 
conscience,  to  satisfy  the  varied  tastes  of  the 
most  fastidious,  and  this  deviation  from  the  beat- 
en track  to  please  the  doting  lolly  of  a  mother, 
or  the  political  prejudices  of  a  father,  is  often,  in 
after  lite,  a  positive  affliction  to  the  bearer ;  for 
if  they  equal,  in  mind  or  station,  their  illustrious 
namesakes,  the  glory  they  achieve  is  liable  to 
be  passed  to  the  credit  of  their  predecessors; 
and  should  their  talent,  appearance,  or  opinion 
be  at  variance  with  their  title,  it  will  often  place 
them  in  a  painful  or  ridiculous  position.  Ima- 
gine a  politician  writing  a  long  tirade  against 
"  removing  the  deposites,"  and  then  being  obliged 

to  sign  himself  "Andrew  Jackson  ;"  or 

"  Apollo,"  a  knife-grinder,  with  a  hump  at  his 
back;  or  "Diogenes"  apprenticed  to  a  washings- 
tub  maker.  I  feel  positively  obliged  to  my  god- 
fathers and  godmothers  for  having  unostenta- 
tiously named  me  after  the  amiable,  ragged- 
coated,  modest  Joseph ;  and  the  etymology  of 
the  designation  I  have  been  fortunate  enough  to 
prove  the  appropriateness  of,  by  being  already 
the  father  and  grandfather,  to  a  certainly,  of  chil- 
dren in  two  quarters  of  the  world,  at  any  rate. 
When  Bonaparte  was  First  Consul,  an  honest 
old  Church  and  King  parson,  at  Manchester,  in 
England,  who  was  wearied  with  the  frequency 
of  the  name  of  the  future  emperor  being  claimed 
for  a  child  born  to  be  a  weaver  or  spinner,  at 
length  determined  to  christen  no  more  so  ridicu- 
lously; and  upon  inquiring  the  name  intended 
lor  the  next  infant  presented,  was  answered,  as 
usual, 

"  Napoleon." 

"  In  the  name,"  &c.,  says  the  clergyman,  "  I 
baptize  thee  John." 

"John!"  says  the  astonished  father;  "I  tell'd 
thee  to  call  the  lad  Napoleon." 

"  Pooh,  pooh,  nonsense !"  says  the  parson ;  "  I 
have  christened  him  John.  Take  him  away, 
and  call  him  what  you  like."  I  wish  all  parsons 
would  do  the  same. 

The  yellow  fever  gave  so  broad  a  hint  as  to 
the  necessity  of  buildings  being  prepared  in  the 
upper  sections  of  the  city,  that  New- York  in- 
creased in  that  direction  with  a  rapidity  that  was 
truly  astonishing.  A  very  superior  theatre  was 
erected  on  the  site  of  the  old  Bull's  Head  Tav- 
ern in  the  Bowery,  a  short  time  before  consider- 
ed out  of  town,  and  used  as  the  cattle  mart.  The 
control  was  placed  in  the  hands  of  Charles  Gil- 
fert,  a  highly-accomplished  German,  whose  chief 
ambition  was  to  manage  a  theatre  on  an  exten- 
sive scale,  and  be  considered  "more  knave  than 
fool,"  in  both  of  which  desires  he  was  fully  grat- 
ified; for  the  establishment  given  to  him  to  con- 
duct infinitely  exceeded  in  its  extent  and  appoint- 
ments any  then  on  the  continent,  and  everybody 
agreed  he  was  a  consummate  rogue.  Thought- 
less, extravagant,  and  unprincipled  as  to  the 
means  used  to  obtain  on  the  instant  his  real  or 


74 


THIRTY   YEARS 


imaginary  wants  in  his  private  station,  he  car- 
ried with  him  the  same  reckless  spirit  to  control 
the  fortunes  of  others.  Large  inducements  were 
held  out  to  the  various  members  of  the  profession 
to  join  the  concern,  and  an  excellent,  but  very 
costly,  company  was  engaged;  and  though  the 
overflowing  houses  attracted  by  the  newness, 
and,  perhaps,  superiority  of  the  entertainments, 
were  ruinous  to  the  Park,  the  expenditure  quite 
equalled  the  receipts.  Barrett  was  the  stage- 
manager;  and  though  at  that  time  not  distin- 
guished by  the  title  of  "Gentleman  George,"  he 
was  as  deserving  of  the  appellation  then  as  now. 
But  if  one  had  been  selected  which  would  have 
more  clearly  conveyed  the  idea  of  an  inconsid- 
erately liberal,  kind-hearted  man,  it  would  better 
have  described  his  intrinsic  character.  As  an 
actor  in  smart,  impudent  servants,  eccentric 
parts,  bordering  on  caricature,  and  light  comedy, 
where  the  claims  to  the  gentleman  do  not  exceed 
those  required  for  Corinthian  Tom,  he  is  excel- 
lent. He  has  attempted  to  perform  some  old 
men  lately,  in  consequence,  I  suppose,  of  his 
whiskers  getting  gray;  but,  if  he'll  take  my  ad- 
vice, he'd  better  dye  them,  and  stick  to  his  old 
line  of  business:  six  feet  four  is  too  tall  to  fit  the 
common  run  of  elderly  gentlemen  nowadays. 
He  went  to  England  a  few  years  since,  and  very 
imprudently  made  his  appearance  at  Drury  Lane 
as  Puff,  in  the  "  Critic,"  a  character  requiring  a 
long  acquaintance  with  both  the  actors  and  audi- 
ence to  be  made  effective ;  the  innocent  jokes,  at 
the  expense  of  either,  always  introduced,  and 
the  principal  means  of  rendering  the  character 
amusing,  if  called  in  aid  by  a  perfect  stranger, 
would  either  be  not  noticed  at  all,  or  considered 
a  liberty.  According  to  Bunn's  sore-mintlcd book, 
the  performance  was  a  failure,  which  he  merely 
mentions  in  proof  of  the  general  inability  of  the 
Americans  to  become  actors;  but  for  his  partic- 
ular information  I  beg  to  state  that  George  Bar- 
rett was  born  in  England,  of  English  parents, 
though  he  arrived  in  this  country  when  a  boy; 
and,  therefore,  his  incapacity,  according  to  Bunn's 
judgment,  must  be  "all  owing  to  the  climate." 
as  poor  Watkinson  said  when  he  was  dying,  in 
consequence  of  drinking  too  much  brandy-and- 
water. 

For  years  the  drama  had  been  generally  under 
the  control  of  foreigners,  and  the  better  class  of 
actors  were,  as  I  have  before  observed,  exclu- 
sively English ;  but  the  increase  of  theatres  ex- 
tending the  inducements  to  make  the  stage  a 
profession,  a  number  of  young  Americans  be- 
came candidates  for  fame  and  fortune  in  that 
hitherto  European  monopoly.  Of  course,  they 
commenced  as  Keans  and  Booths;  for  it  is  the 
marked  character  of  the  nation  to  begin  at  the 
top  of  everything,  and  the  energies  of  the  people 
increase  in  proportion  to  the  difficulty  or  danger. 
In  arts  or  arms,  they  might  with  propriety  adopt 
as  a  motto,  individually,  "What  man  dare,  I 
dare."  Foremost  amid  a  host  of  tyros  stood 
Edwin  Forrest.  He  had  had  the  advantage  of 
some  useful  practice,  and  had  already  achieved 
a  trifling  reputation  in  the  South  and  West,  to 
which  almost  "undiscovered  country"  in  that 
day  but  few  foreigners  had  dared  to  venture. 
He  possessed  a  fine,  untaught  face,  and  good, 
manly  figure,  and,  though  unpolished  in  his  de- 
portment, his  manners  were  frank  and  honest, 
and  his  uncultivated  taste,  speaking  the  language 
of  truth  and  Nature,  could  be  readily  under- 
stood ;  and  yet  so  intrinsically  superior  to  the 
ninds  of  the  class  of  persons  among  whom  his 


fortunes  had  thrown  him,  that  he  could  call  to 
his  aid  requisites  well  calculated  to  make  both 
friends  and  admirers.  Early  left  to  the  care  of 
a  widowed  mother,  her  fond  indulgence  or  pain- 
ful necessities  had  deprived  him"  of  an  educa- 
tion even  equal  to  his  peers.  This  stumbling- 
block  to  his  success  he  most  keenly  felt.  With 
praiseworthy  ambition,  and  the  nieans  his  ad- 
vancing fortunes  furnished,  with  unwearied  in- 
dustry he  laboured  to  remove  this  obstacle  in  his 
path  to  fame,  and  may  now  compare  in  acquire- 
ments with  those  whose  early  lite  was  cradled  in 
ease,  and  learning  made  a  toy.  Having  had  an 
opportunity  of  witnessing  his  unschooled  efforts, 
I  strongly  urged  his  engagement  at  the  Park; 
but,  while  the  dollars  and  cents  were  under  con- 
sideration, Gilfert  secured  the  prize,  and,  cun- 
ningly enlisting  the  natural  national  prejudices 
of  the  Americans  in  the  cause,  Forrest  filled  the 
coffers  of  the  Bowery  treasury,  and  received  the 
unthinking,  overwrought,  enthusiastic  admira- 
tion of  his  countrymen,  which,  after  years  of 
unceasing  study  and  practice,  he  now  so  justly 
merits  from  all  admirers  of  genuine  talent. 

The  destruction  of  the  Bowery  Theatre  by 
fire,  to  such  a  mind  as  Gilfert's,  seemed  only  to 
increase  his  energies;  and  in  an  unprecedented 
short  space  of  time — sixty  days — it  was  rebuilt 
and  opened,  even  with  increased  magnificence. 
Agents  had  been  despatched  to  Europe  for  talent 
of  every  description,  and  the  first  good  theatrical 
orchestra  ever  brought  to  America  Gilfert  could 
boast  of  having  congregated.  William  Chap- 
man, an  excellent  comedian,  was  engaged,  and 
George  Holland,  inimitable  in  the  small  list  of 
characters  he  undertook,  proved  a  deserved  at- 
traction, while  Forrest,  if  possible,  increased  in 
public  estimation.  A  very  capable  man,  by  the 
name  of  Harby,  was  employed,  at  a  handsome 
salary,  to  "  write  up"  the  merits  of  the  theatre, 
and  such  members  of  the  company  as  the  inter- 
est of  the  management  desired  to  be  advanced. 
This,  being  the  first  introduction  of  the  system 
of  forestalling,  or,  rather,  directing  public  opin- 
ion, had  a  powerful  effect ;  and  the  avidity  with 
which  a  large  class  of  persons,  in  all  countries, 
swallow,  and  implicitly  believe  what  they  read 
in  a  newspaper,  is  truly  and  quaintly  enough 
described  by  Mopsa,  in  the  "Winter's  Tale:" 
"  I  love  a  ballad  in  print  a'  life,  for  then  we  are 
sure  they  are  true."  All  these  circumstances 
combined,  and  the  theatrical  population  of  New- 
York  not  being  then  equal  to  the  support  of 
more  than  one  establishment  of  the  kind,  the 
tide  of  opinion  sat  full  in  favour  of  the  Bowery, 
while  the  Park  was  trembling  on  the  brink  of 
ruin. 

In  defiance  of  the  somewhat  prudish  charac- 
ter of  the  Americans  at 

"  That  blushing  time, 
When  modesty  was  scarcely  held  a  crime," 

Gilfert,  whose  moral  feelings  never  interfered 
with  his  interests,  introduced  a  troupe  of  French 
dancers.  The  experiment  was  considered  a 
dangerous  one ;  and  though  all,  at  the  onset, 
were  loud  in  their  denunciation  of  the  immodest 
exhibition,  all  crowded  to  witness  it.  By  com- 
parison with  what  I  had  seen  in  Europe,  they 
were  of  the  fourth  or  fifth  class  in  the  way  of 
talent ;  and  the  exposure  of  the  persons  of  the 
females,  unexcused  by  elegance  and  grace,  and 
the  ribald  remarks  indulged  in  aloud,  at  the 
close  of  every  pirouette,  by  the  gross-minded  por- 
tion of  the  audience,  rendered  the  performance 
most  disgusting  to  the  feelings  of  the  virtuous 


PASSED   AMONG   THE    PLAYERS. 


75 


and  refined;  while  the  poor  half-undressed  su- 
pernumerary women,  made,  for  the  first  time  in 
their  lives,  to  stand  upon  one  leg,  bashfully  tot- 
tering, and  looking  as  foolish,  and  about  as 
graceful,  as  a  plucked  goose  in  the  same  posi- 
tion, were  pitiably  laughable. 

This  was  the  first  relish  given  to  that  false 
taste  which  has  taken  the  place  of  the  whole- 
some mental  food  furnished  by  the  legitimate 
drama;  and, 

"  As  if  excess  of  appetite  had  grown 
By  what  it  fed  on," 

"dancers,  mimics,  mummers"  have  usurped  the 
claims  of  poetry  and  morality,  and  brought  the 
stage  to  its  present  degraded  position. 

Among  the  corps  was  Celeste,  then  very  young 
and  beautiful,  and  though  not  in  the  first  rank, 
there  was  a  native  grace  and  modesty  in  her 
manner,  by  comparison  with  those  by  whom 
she  was  surrounded,  which  gained  her  many 
admirers.  A  young  man  by  the  name  of  Elliot, 
who  had  nearly  squandered  a  handsome  fortune 
left  him  by  his  father,  who  had  been  a  livery- 
stable  keeper  in  Baltimore,  became  enamoured, 
and  after  a  short  courtship,  if  it  might  so  be  call- 
ed— for,  as  she  could  not  understand  English, 
and  he  could  not  speak  French,  recourse  was 
had  to  an  interpreter,  to  say  the  usual  soft  things, 
which,  Heaven  be  praised,  I  never  had  occasion 
to  trust  any  one  to  say  for  me — they  became  man 
and  wife ;  and  for  years  she  maintained  the  very 
first  reputation  in  her  line,  and  supported  her 
husband  in  affluence.  Perhaps  prejudiced  by 
placing  her  estimable  private  deportment  in  the 
scale  with  her  acknowledged  talent,  and  my  ig- 
norance of  the  art,  may  cause  me  to  think  she 
has  never  been  excelled,  for,  to  my  untutored 
taste, 

"  An  antelope, 
In  the  suspended  impulse  of  its  lightness, 
Were  less  ethereally  light.     The  brightness 
Of  her  divinest  presence  trembles  through 
Her  limbs,  as,  underneath  a  cloud  of  dew, 
Imbodied  in  the  windless  heaven  of  June, 
Amid  the  splendour-winged  stars,  the  moon 
Burns  inextinguishably  beautiful." — Shelley. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

"  When,  in  this  vale  of  years,  I  backward  look, 
And  miss  such  numbers — numbers,  too,  of  such, 
Firmer  in  health,  and  greener  in  their  age, 
And  stricter  on  their  guard,  and  better  far 
To  play  life's  subtle  game — 1  scarce  believe 
1  still  survive." — Night  Thoughts. 

I  have  already  said  that  my  company  was 
extensive ;  and  for  talent,  in  many  instances  it 
could  compete  with  the  best  on  the  Continent. 
William  B.  Jones  and  his  lady,  omitting  their 
just  claims  to  excellence  on  the  stage,  by  their 
private  worth  alone  were  ornaments  to  any  es- 
tablishment. I  have  just  heard  of  the  death  of 
my  old  friend  and  companion.  I  am  not  one  of 
the  crying  sort,  but  the  paper  got  blotted  while 
placing  Young's  thought  upon  it,  which  very 
appropriately  came  to  my  mind  on  hearing  the 
sac!  news.  Roberts,  too,  gone  long  ago,  will  be 
remembered  by  many  a  lover  of  fun,  as  a  most 
chaste  and  capital  comedian.  And  my  ladies ! 
for  beauty,  utility,  in  fact,  for  every  decoration 
but  docility,  would  not  suffer  by  comparison 
even  with  our  magnificent  stud  of  horses. 

Mrs.  Tatnall,  Mrs.  Williams,  Mrs.  and  Miss 
Pelby,  Mrs.  and  Miss  Virginia  Monier,  Mrs. 
Parker,  and  the  lovely  Mrs.  Robertson — now 


Mrs.  Watkins  Burroughs — can  never  be  forgot- 
ten by  the  admirers  of  the 

"  Last  and  best 
Of  all  God's  works  !" 

But  eighteen  or  twenty  years  make  an  awful  al- 
teration in  all  such  matters.  Poor  Mrs.  Tatnall! 
she  died  at  Texas  a  short  time  since — that  last 
resource  for 

"  Talent  struggling  with  despair  and  death  !" 

Many  years  gone  by,  I  strongly  recommend- 
ed her  to  Simpson,  to  play  the  Lady  Macbeths, 
and  other  would-be  queens,  with  Cooper  :  he 
turned  up  his  nose  at  my  circus  heroine  then, 
but  not  long  after  she  was  a  most  successful 
star  in  such  characters  at  all  the  principal  the- 
atres, and  in  many  of  them  she  was  eminent. 
A  comparison  with  her  personation  of  Massero- 
ni,  in  the  melodrame  called  the  Brigand,  would 
make  even  James  Wallack  and 

"All  the  stars 
Hide  their  diminished  beads." 

She  was  really  an  excellent  general  actress, 
a  warm-hearted  friend,  affectionate  mother,  and, 
I  have  no  doubt,  a  most  desirable  wife.  She 
had  but  one  failing  that  I  know  of,  if  it  could  so 
be  called,  for  even  that  "  leaned  to  virtue's  side," 
and  that  was  an  extraordinary  propensity  to  get 
married  every  now  and  then ;  allowing  for  the 
difference  of  sex  and  position  in  society,  Henry 
the  Eighth  was  uno  toheres"  as  Stephen  Price 
would  say,  in  comparison  with  her  conjugal 
propensities.  She  was  the  lawfully-wedded 
wife  of  five  husbands  to  my  certain  knowledge, 
three  of  them  all  alive  at  the  same  time,  and 
two,  1  believe,  not  dead  yet.  But  for  the  bury- 
ing part  of  the  business,  she  might  have  sung 
with  feeling  Colman's  Irish  song: 

"  To  the  priest  says  I,  '  Father  O'Casey,  dear  !  don't  my 
weddings  and  funerals  plase  ye,  dear?' 
Says  he,  '  Ye  bla'guaid,  betwixt  church  and  churchyard 
you  never  will  let  me  be  aisy,  dear  !' " 

Her  maiden  name  was  Pritchard,  and,  as  far 
as  I  know,  her  first  spouse  was  the  Mr.  Pember- 
ton  who  some  years  since  played  Virginius 
with  some  success  in  London ;  he  was  acknowl- 
edged to  be  a  gentleman  of  education  and  talent, 
though  somewhat  eccentric  in  his  mode  of  dis- 
playing his  acquirements;  from  him  she  was 
separated,  and  married  Tatnall,  one  of  the  ear- 
liest American  equestrians;  from  him  she  was 
separated,  and,  undismayed  by  his  notoriously 
cruel  conduct — for  Tatnall  treated  his  wife  very 
nearly  in  the  same  way  he  did  his  horse — she 
married  Hartwig,  a  very  inferior  actor,  and  a 
widower,  in  consequence  of  his  first  wife  having 
poisoned  herself  three  months  before  ;  her  sep- 
arating from  him  very  speedily  caused  little  sur- 
prise, and  she  married  Hosack,  a  nephew  of 
the  celebrated  physician  of  that  name  in  New- 
York,  and,  by  the  desire  of  his  family,  resumed 
her  own  of  Pritchard  m  the  playbills.  Hosack 
had  a  small  annuity,  and  was  a  very  worthy 
young  man  ;  they  had  two  or  three  children,  and 
appeared  to  live  most  happily  together,  but  death 
interfered  with  that  arrangement,  and  shortly  af- 
terward she  became  the  wife  of  Riley;  he  claim- 
ed the  author  of  the  "  Itinerant"  as  his  father, 
and,  I  am  told,  had  been  a  good  actor,  and  a  re- 
spectable man.  This  connubial  career  soon  came 
to  an  end,  and  she  left  him  to  close  his  wander- 
ings and  his  eyes  in  the  hospital  at  St.  Louis. 
I  doubt  much  if  she  ever  had  an  offer  of  mar- 
riage since,  for  I  don't  believe  she  had  the  heart 
to  refuse  one ;  and  in  the  brief  notice  of  her  de- 


76 


THIRTY  YEARS 


mise  in  a  Texas  paper,  "no  afflicted  husband" 
was  named  "  to  bewail  her  loss,"  which,  in  the 
familiar  idiom  of  that  country,  might,  under  all 
the  circumstances,  be  called  "  d —  hard  luck." 

It  couldn't  be  expected  that  during  the  increase 
of  successful  theatrical  establishments,  the  cir- 
cus should  remain  quietly  and  alone  in  posses- 
sion of  the  field.  A  large  building  was  erected 
in  Grand-street,  New- York,  and,  like  everything 
new,  for  a  time  had  its  supporters;  and  though, 
through  bad  management,  and  its  then  out-of- 
the-way  situation,  it  was  ultimately  a  failure,  it 
interfered  for  a  time  sensibly  with  our  receipts. 
The  loss,  too,  of  the  horses  was  severely  felt ; 
for  though  their  place  was  supplied  as  regarded 
numbers,  those  that  were  gone  had  each  been 
worth  the  price  of  admission  merely  to  look  at, 
and  while  they  were  alive,  we  could  defy  any 
competition  "  that  stood  upon  four  legs." 

Mr.  Sandford,  now  General  Sandford,  who 
had  married  Mrs.  Holman  the  singer,  and  the 
widow  of  the  well-known  old  actor  of  that  name, 
erected  a  very  extensive  amphitheatre  within 
pistol-shot  of  our  encampment,  and  called  it,  as 
everything  was  called  at  that  time  that  wanted 
a  name,  Irom  an  oyster-cellar  to  an  omnibus, 
Lafayette.  With  every  horse  that  could  be  pur- 
chased with  a  long  tail  and  a  spot  in  its  neigh- 
bourhood, a  few  runaway  rascals  of  ours,  with 
Tatnall  at  their  head,  and  some  nothing-better-to- 
do  boys,  who  had  tumbled  into  the  notice  of  the 
amateur  manager,  outside  of  our  stable  on  a  pile 
of  straw,  but  whose  "  vaulting  ambition'-'  has 
long  since  rendered  them  superior  in  gymnastic 
talent  to  any  that  can  be  produced  in  Europe, 
he  commenced  his  campaign  with  Watkins 
Burroughs,  from  the  Surry  and  Adelphi  Theatre, 
to  conduct  the  dramatic  department ;  and  by 
forcing  us  to  an  expensive  competition,  and,  at 
the  same  time,  drawing  oft"  a  portion  of  our  au- 
dience, this  powerful  opposition  took  largely 
from  our  former  profits,  though  it  ultimately 
brought  the  proprietor  to  a  state  of  bankruptcy — 
was  closed  in  a  year  or  two,  burned  down,  and 
never  rebuilt. 

Price,  who  visited  London  every  year,  sent 
me  periodically  all  the  come-at-able  talent,  hum- 
bug, or  nonsense  to  which  the  English  show- 
shop  had  given  a  name,  or  that  he  knew  from 
experience  would  suit  the  wonder-loving  public 
here.  Hunter  proved  an  immense  attraction ; 
he  was  the  first  rider  in  this  country  who  dex- 
terously and  fearlessly  went  through  all  the  usu- 
al antics  on  the  bare  back  of  the  horse,  instead 
of  on  the  oldfashioned  flat  saddle,  the  size  of  a 
sideboard. 

Stoker,  a  rope-vaulter,  was  another  wonder; 
he,  among  a  variety  of  liberties  he  took  with 
himself,  used  to  hang  by  the  neck,  not  till  he 
was  dead,  but  just  long  enough  to  give  his  audi- 
ence reason  to  believe  that  he  might  be ;  and 
this  faithful  imitation  of  the  last  agonies  of  a 
malefactor,  in  a  spangled  jacket,  drew  together, 
nightly,  quite  as  large  a  crowd  as  a  public  exe- 
cution always  does.  Fortunately  for  the  man- 
agement, several  ladies  fainted  the  first  night  he 
appeared  ;  and  this  fact  being  named  in  some  of 
the  papers,  and  the  exhibition  described  as  most 
shocking  to  witness,  and  certain  on  some  night, 
when  least  expected,  to  cause  the  death  of  the 
performer,  the  boxes  were  always  filled  with  the 
fair  sex  whenever  the  feat  was  advertised.  In 
short,  every  novelty  that  money  could  procure, 
tact  invent,  or  unwearied  industry  produce,  to 
excite  the  creative  appetite  of  curiosity,  was 


served  up  in  unceasing  variety.  Every  specta- 
cle "got  up"  had  no  rival  but  its  predecessor, 
and  even  at  this  day  it  is  admitted  that  the  Cat- 
aract of  the  Ganges,  and  other  gorgeous  affairs 
of  the  sort,  have  never  been  excelled  in  splen- 
dour and  effect. 

Mine  was  a  genuine  Democratic  government: 
the  man  who  swept  the  stable  received  quite  as 
much  courtesy  from  me  as  he  who  could  vault 
over  all  the  horses  in  it,  and  balance  the  broom 
on  his  nose  into  the  bargain.  I,  in  consequence, 
had  a  very  high  reputation  for  even-handed  jus- 
tice, and,  "  against  my  own  inclining,"  was  cho- 
sen arbiter  in  all  the  private  and  domestic  quar- 
rels and  troubles,  and  the  causes  of  either  were 
sometimes  very  amusing. 

Most  of  my  performers,  both  horse  and  footr 
had  a  claim  to  some  share,  large  or  small,  of 
the  receipts  of  a  house  as  a  benefit  in  each  sea- 
son ;  but  to  avoid  trouble  to  others,  and  save 
them  from  the  very  common  folly  of  selecting 
some  piece  likely  to  keep  money  out  of  the  treas- 
ury, for  the  sake  of  playing  a  part  they  are  par- 
ticularly unfitted  for,  I  always  controlled  the  na- 
ture of  the  performance. 

The  benefits,  on  one  occasion,  came  on  during 
the  very  successful  run  of  El  Hyder,  and,  of 
course,  I  would  not  have  its  career  interrupted. 
Mrs.  Tatnall  played  Harry  Clifton — ay,  and 
played  it  better  than  anybody  ever  did  or  could 
play  it.  Mrs.  Williams,  who  was  exclusively 
an  equestrian,  when  her  night  came,  thought  it 
would  be  an  attraction  for  her  to  undertake  the 
part,  and  I  gave  my  consent  that  she  should 
show  her  versatility,  to  the  great  annoyance  of 
Mrs.  Tatnall.  Mrs.  Pelby,  in  turn,  claimed  the 
like  indulgence  on  her  benefit,  and,  in  common 
justice,  she  had  as  good  a  right  as  Mrs.  Will- 
iams to  amuse  herself,  at  any  rate,  and  I  adver- 
tised her  for  the  character.  Mrs.  Tatnall  was 
outrageous  at  this  accumulated  infringement  of 
her  rights,  and  vowed  to  be  signally  revenged. 
The  part  is  really  an  excellent  one,  and  any 
circus  lady  might  be  justified  in  even  using  more 
than  "  wild  and  windy  words"  to  maintain  the 
possession  of  it.  A  dashing  young  midshipman, 
after  the  true  Saddler's-Wells  model,  in  white 
tights,  fighting  broad-sword  combats  to  no  par- 
ticular tune,  audanle,  with  three  or  four  giant- 
like assassins  at  a  time  ;  shouting  for  "  liberty!" 
at  the  end  of  every  speech,  and  a  "  dam'me"  at 
the  end  of  every  line,  and  surrounded  by  blue- 
fire  and  piebald  horses  in  the  last  scene,  is  not  to 
be  sneezed  at.  I  was  the  old  sailor,  and  quite 
as  unlike  a  sailor  as  my  master,  and,  of  course, 
quite  as  effective. 

While  the  performance  was  proceeding,  I  ob- 
served Mrs.  Pelby  to  be  particularly  restless  and 
odd  in  her  deportment,  standing  sometimes  upon 
one  leg,  then  balancing  herself  on  the  other,  rub- 
bing the  upper  ends  of  them  together,  thumping 
herself  with  her  cocked-hat  in  all  sorts  of  places, 
twitching  her  beautiful  face  about  as  children 
sometimes  do  in  the  green-gooseberry  season, 
and  at  the  end  of  every  highly-relished  Repub- 
lican sentiment  whispering  such  disjointed  sen- 
tences as,  "  I  can't  bear  it !"  "  What  shall  I  do  1" 
"Good  Heaven!  it's  dreadful!"  "1  shall  cer- 
tainly go  mad!"  "I  must  pull  them  off!"  and 
bang  would  go  the  cocked-hat  against  the  skirts 
of  her  coat,  both  before  and  behind,  with  her 
fingers  extended  as  if  itching  for  the  luxury  of 
an  uncontrolled  scratch.  During  a  pause,  in  a 
confidential  manner  and  imploring  accent,  she 
said  to  me,  "  Oh  !  I  am  in  torture  ;  for  Heaven's. 


PASSED  AMONG  THE  PLAYERS. 


77 


sake,  make  an  act  at  the  end  of  this  scene.  You 
don't  know  what  I  suffer;  I  must  change  them 
or  I  shall  die.  That  beast,  Mrs.  Tatnall,  must 
have  put  cow-itch  in  my  pantaloons  !" 

And  so,  no  doubt,  she  had — "  to  what  ex- 
tremes may  not  a  woman's  vengeance  lead  !"  but 
the  supposed  culprit  strongly  denied  all  knowl- 
edge of  the  ticklish  transgression,  and  very  truly 
said  "  that  no  lady  could  be  capable  of  anything 
half  so  villanous."  I,  and  everybody  else,  be- 
lieved her  to  be  the  irritator,  but  as  there  was  no 
law,  even  of  ray  own  making,  applicable  to  the 
offence,  I  was  glad  she  did  not  confess.  The 
usual  remedies,  whatever  they  are,  were  appli- 
ed, and  in  a  pair  of  blue  trousers,  a  little  too 
large  in  one  place  and  not  big  enough  in  an- 
other, Mrs.  Pelby  finished  the  part  without  any 
farther  apparent  titillation. 

Though  my  income  was  large,  my  outlay  was 
on  the  same  scale  ;  wherever  1  went,  Mrs.  Cow- 
ell  and  my  younger  children  went ;  and  in  that 
day,  travelling,  with  all  the  comfort  that  could 
be  bought,  was  a  very  costly  amusement,  and  liv- 
ing at  the  principal  hotels,  with  private  parlours 
and  other  privileges,  beyond  a  joke  to  pay  for. 

it  is  not  of  the  least  consequence  in  this  coun- 
try what  a  man's  profession  may  be;  he  obtains 
a  station,  and  is  respected  in  society,  not  accord- 
ing to  how  he  makes  money,  but  according  to  how 
much  he  makes;  wealth  is  the  aristocracy  of  the 
land,  and  a  poor  gentleman  an  incomprehensible 
character  to  the  million.  In  my  doubtful  position 
— a  circus  manager — there  was  no  proof  so  con- 
vincing of  my  being  the  possessor  of  wealth, 
and,  therefore,  having  a  claim  to  consideration, 
as  by  lavishly  squandering  it  away.  My  liber- 
ality got  quite  as  much  applause  as  my  comic 
songs;  and  though  the  interests  of  the  sleeping 
partners  in  the  concern  were  advanced  at  my 
expense,  at  the  end  of  three  years  of  intense  toil 
and  annoyance,  I  awoke  to  the  consciousness 
that  if  I  had  remained  in  New- York  and  follow- 
ed my  profession,  of  which  I  was  then  proud,  I 
should  have  been  quite  as  well,  if  not  better  off. 
All  I  had  gained  by  my  management  was  a  high 
reputation,  which  continued  success  in  any  pur- 
suit is  sure  to  obtain.  I  once  heard  a  man  who 
had  just  lost  his  last  stake  at  roulette,  a  game 
which  sets  all  calculation  at  defiance,  say  to  an- 
other, who  was  staring  with  astonishment  at 
winning,  thrice  in  succession,  thirty-six  times 
the  amount  of  his  bet, 

"Ah  !  I  wish  I  understood  the  thing  as  well 
as  you  do — I'd  make  a  fortune  at  it." 

Warren  and  Wood,  who  for  years  had  been 
associated  as  managers  of  the  Philadelphia, 
Baltimore,  and  Washington  Theatres,  at  about 
this  period  dissolved  partnership,  and  Warren, 
"who  by  purchase  had  become  the  sole  director, 
made  me  an  offer  of  a  very  handsome  salary  to 
undertake  the  acting  management,  which  hith- 
erto had  been  Mr.  Wood's  department.  I  had 
long  since  selected  Philadelphia  as  my  home, 
though  I  could  only  enjoy  the  pleasures  of  one 
three  months  in  the  year ;  this  arrangement, 
therefore,  held  out  domestic  inducements  that 
jumped  well  with  my  humour,  and  at  the  latter 
end  of  1826  I  took  the  reins  of  government  at 
the  Chestnut-street  Theatre. 

My  seceding  from  the  circus.  I  was  pleased  to 
find,  met  with  less  opposition  from  the  proprie- 
tors than  I  had  anticipated.  My  income  was  a 
large  item  saved  in  the  general  expenditure,  and 
■Dinneford,  who  had  been  some  time  in  my  em- 
ploy, and  Blythe,  the  riding-master,  with  Simp- 


son to  advise  and  control,  they  had  a  right  to  be- 
lieve would  economically,  yet  amply,  supply  my 
place. 

My  new  company,  if  not  eminent  for  talent  in 
every  department,  was  highly  respectable;  and 
having  been  trained  by  my  predecessor  Wood, 
a  gentleman  and  a  man  of  taste,  to  submit  with 
cheerfulness  to  the  wholesome  subordination  on 
which  a  well-conducted  theatre  so  much  de- 
pends, the  direction  was  divested  of  its  prover- 
bial annoyances,  and  the  season  proving  profit- 
able beyond  all  precedent,  I  have  reason  to  recur 
to  this  period  of  my  life  with  both  pride  and 
pleasure. 

Wood  and  his  lady  still  continued  members 
of  the  company.  He  was  a  most  mechanically 
correct  actor,  and  when  his  great  peculiarities 
happened  to  exactly^  a  character,  which  in  the 
extensive  range  he  allotted  to  himself  was  often 
the  case,  he  might  be  considered  excellent  by 
those  who  had  long  been  acquainted  with  his 
style  ;  but  the  singularity  of  his  voice,  to  a 
strange  auditor,  took  largely  from  the  pleasure 
his  sensible  delivery  demanded.  There  was  a 
kind  of  comic  pathos  in  its  two  distinct  tones, 
which,  though  it  did  not  assist  a  laugh  where  it 
should  occur,  was  very  apt  to  cause  one  in  the 
wrong  place.  Mrs.  Wood  was  a  sterling  actress, 
indebted  to  nature  for  a  very  superior  mind,  and 
then — the  account  was  closed.  They  were  both 
enthusiasts  in  their  art,  and  most  ardent  admi- 
rers of  each  other's  talent ;  and  in  parts  they 
frequently  played  together,  such  as  Mrs.  Haller 
and  the  Stranger,  they  infused  so  much  reality 
into  the  scene,  that  they  literally  appropriated  all 
the  sorrow  to  themselves;  positive  sobs  and  tears 
by  turns,  at  each  other's  plaints  and  penitence, 
would  so  interfere  with  and  divert  the  sympa- 
thies of  the  audience,  as  to  drown  all  recollec- 
tion of  the  imaginary  characters  in  pity  for  the 
sufferings  of  Billy  Wood  and  his  wife. 

Warren  was  highly  esteemed  as  a  man,  and 
admired  as  an  actor.  He  had  obtained  a  great 
reputation  as  Falstaff,  which  character  his  bulk 
admirably  adapted  him  to  represent;  and,  as  far 
as  "unbuttoning  after  supper,  and  sleeping  on 
benches  after  noon,"  there  was  an  extraordinary 
similarity  in  his  habits,  and  the  "cause  that  wit 
is  in  other  men."  Poor  Warren  was  a  man  of 
wealth  at  the  time  I  am  now  speaking  of,  but  he 
unfortunately  outlived  his  fortunes. 

Jefferson  was  the  low-comedian,  and  had  been 
for  more  than  five-and-twenty  years !  Of  course, 
he  was  a  most  overwhelming  favourite,  though 
at  this  time  drops  of  pity  for  fast-coming  signs 
of  age  and  infirmity  began  to  be  freely  sprinkled 
with  the  approbation  long  habit,  more  than  en- 
thusiasm, now  elicited. 

I  am  told  "  Mr.  Jefferson  was  a  native  of  Lon- 
don, and  arrived  at  Boston,  at  the  age  of  nine- 
teen, as  a  member  of  Powell's  theatrical  com- 
pany, in  the  year  1795." 

Literally  born  on  the  stage,  he  brought  with 
him  to  this  country  the  experience  of  age  with 
all  the  energy  of  youth,  and,  in  the  then  infant 
state  of  the  drama,  his  superior  talent,  adorned 
by  his  most  exemplary  private  deportment,  gave 
him  lasting  claims  to  the  respect  and  gratitude 
both  of  the  members  of  the  profession  and  its  ad- 
mirers. And  perhaps  on  some  such  imaginary 
reed  he  placed  too  much  dependance ;  for  the 
whole  range  of  the  drama  cannot  probably  fur- 
nish a  more  painful  yet  perfect  example  of  the 
mutability  of  theatrical  popularity  than  Joseph 
Jefferson. 


78 


THIRT\    YEARS 


When  Warren  left  the  management,  "young- 
er, not  belter,"  actors  were  brought  in  competition 
with  the  veteran ;  and  the  same  audience  that 
had  actually  grown  up  laughing  at  him  alone — 
as  if  they  had  been  mistaken  in  his  talent  all 
this  time — suddenly  turned  their  smiles  on  for- 
eign faces;  and,  to  place  their  changed  opinion 
past  a  doubt,  his  benefits,  which  had  never  pro- 
duced less  than  twelve  or  fourteen  hundred  dol- 
lars, and  often  sixteen,  fell  down  to  less  than 
three.  Wounded  in  pride,  and  ill  prepared  in 
pocket  for  this  sudden  reverse  of  favour  and  for- 
tune, he  bade  adieu  forever  to  Philadelphia. 
With  the  aid  of  his  wife  and  children  he  formed 
a  travelling  company,  and  wandered  through  the 
smaller  towns  of  Pennsylvania,  Maryland,  and 
Virginia,  making  Washington  City  his  head- 
quarters. Kindly  received  and  respected  every- 
where, his  old  age  might  still  have  passed  in 
calm  contentment,  but  that 

"  One  wo  did  tread  upon  another's  heel, 
So  fast  they  followed." 

His  eldest  daughter,  Mrs.  Anderson,  and  his 
youngest  (I  believe),  Jane,  both  died  in  quick 
succession,  after  torturing  hope,  with  long  and 
lingering  disease.  His  son-in-law,  Sam  Chap- 
man, was  thrown  from  a  horse,  and  the  week 
following  was  in  his  grave.  His  son  John,  an 
excellent  actor,  performed  for  his  father's  bene- 
fit at  Lancaster,  Pennsylvania ;  was  well  and 
happy;  went  home;  fell  in  a  fit,  and  was  dead 
on  the  morning  of  September  the  4ih,  1831.  And 
"  last,  not  least,"  to  be  named  in  this  sad  list,  the 
wife  of  his  youth,  the  mother  of  his  thirteen  chil- 
dren, the  sharer  of  his  joys  and  sorrows  for  six- 
and-thirty  years,  was  "  torn  from  out  his  heart." 

"  The  spirit  of  a  man  will  sustain  his  infirmity, 
but  a  wounded  spirit  who  can  bear  ?" 

Joseph  Jefferson  died  at  Harrisburg,  Pennsyl- 
vania, the  6th  day  of  August,  1832. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

"  The  hook  of  man  he  read  with  nicest  art, 
And  ransack'd  all  the  secrets  of  the  heart : 
Exerted  penetration's  utmost  force, 
And  traced  each  passion  to  its  proper  source." 

Churchill. 

I  had  secured  a  galaxy  of  stars  of  the  first 
magnitude :  among  them,  Macready,  Cooper, 
Forrest,  Mrs.  Knight,  and  others  of  distinction  ; 
but  for  attraction,  none  could  compete  with  the 
brilliant  Lydia  Kelly;  her  extraordinary  success 
must  have  astonished  herself.  When  she  was 
first  underlined  at  the  Park,  one  of  those  well- 
known  theatrical  insects  who  flutter  round  a 
box-office,  and  because  they  are  free  of  the  house, 
conceive  themselves  privileged  to  be  imperti- 
nent, said  to  Price, 

"  Why,  Price,  they  say  this  Miss  Kelly  is  not 
the  celebrated  Miss  Kelly,  but  a  sister  of  hers. 
Is  that  the  fact?" 

"Why,  doctor,"  says  Stephen,  "I'll  tell  you 
what  it  is;  there  arc  three  celebrated  Miss  Kel- 
lys  in  London,  and  as  I  had  my  choice,  I  should 
have  been  a  b —  fool  if  I  hadn't  picked  out  the 
best." 

If  Price  had  his  "choice,"  he  certainly  showed 
his  wit  in  the  selection.  Fanny,  the  celebrated, 
was  a  delicacy,  a  nice  little  bit — five  or  six  green 
peas  on  a  plate  to  prove  such  things  can  be  in 
the  world  at  Christmas.  Now  a  London  audi- 
ence can  afford  to  pay  for  such  luxuries,  but  the 


drama  in  this  country,  Price  was  well  aware, 
required  more  substantial  food.  Fanny's  per- 
fection of  art,  too,  always  savoured  of  the  kitch- 
en, or,  at  any  rate,  it  never  got  higher  than  the 
back  parlour,  or  the  bar-room  of  an  inn ;  and 
then,  indeed,  if  she  happened  to  be  '•'■Mary  the 
maid"  you  would  see  the  most  consummate  skill 
so  skilfully  concealed,  that  acting  ceased  to  be; 
all  she  did  was  reality,  but  it  was  the  reality  of 
humble  life,  and,  therefore,  she  couldn't  even 
make  believe  to  be  Beatrice  or  Lady  Teazle ; 
and  those  were  the  sort  of  characters  that  were 
the  most  attractive  here.  Now  Lydia  could  in- 
troduce us  to  the  drawing-room  :  it  was  one  of 
her  own,  to  be  sure,  but  she  was  very  free,  and 
easy,  and  agreeable  there,  and  she  showed  us  the 
fashions;  they,  perhaps,  were  her  own  too;  but 
she  was  a  splendid-looking  woman,  and  they 
were  very  dashing  and  effective,  and,  therefore, 
much  admired;  and  so  were  her  songs,  and  her 
legs,  which  she  showed  her  good  sense  by  show- 
ing she  was  not  ashamed  of  showing,  when  the 
part  she  had  to  perform  required  such  a  display. 
To  be  sure,  some  ladies  who  are  engaged  to- 
be  "  generally  useful"  are  often  thrust  into 
"  breeches  parts"  whether  they  like  it  or  not ; 
and  then,  poor  dears,  they  have  a  right  to  seem 
ashamed  of  themselves  if  they  like  it,  and  it  is 
highly  probable  that  sometimes  they  really  are. 

During  the  run  of  the  pantomime  called  "  Jack 
and  the  Bean  Stalk"  at  Drury  Lane,  Miss  Povey, 
who  played  Jack — by-the-by,  it  was  singing  a 
solo  in  the  opening  of  this  very  pantomime  that 
first  brought  Miss  Povey  into  notice :  I  think  I 
hear  it  now  ;  how  exquisitely  it  vibrates  on  the 
memory,  as  deliciously  as  the  never-to-be-for- 
gotten warble  of  the  tame  redbreast,  the  pet  of 
my  childhood  !  What  a  pity  it  was  she  married 
little  Knight  ! 

Well,  Mrs.  Knight — Miss  Povey,  I  mean — 
played  Jack,  climbed  up  a  pole,  and  sung  like 
a  cock-robin.  But  the  pretty  flaxen-headed  lit- 
tle creature  felt  embarrassed  in  breeches,  and, 
therefore,  had  permission  to  use  the  principal 
green-room,  which,  though  not  more  private 
than  the  general  one,  was  safe  from  vulgar  eyes. 
And  there,  in  the  right-hand  corner  next  the 
window,  the  siren  would  take  her  station — look- 
ing more  like  a  boy  than  a  girl — at  least  two 
hours  before  she'd  be  wanted  in  the  last  piece. 
Her  little  feet,  "  and  the  demesnes  that  there  ad- 
jacent lie,"  "  folded  like  two  cross  boughs ;"  the 
skirts  of  the  little  brown  coat  tucked  over  her 
knees,  and  her  hat  on  her  lap  with  the  crown  up- 
ward ;  and  without  scarcely  moving  or  looking, 
there  she'd  sit,  the  perfect  picture  of  purity,  in 
pantaloons.     But  this  was  all 

"  The  fault  and  g-lympse  of  newness  j" 

when  she  did  as  she  pleased,  boys  of  all  sorts 
were  her  favourite  characters. 

What  a  pity  it  was  little  Knight  died  without 
hearing  Father  Matthew  lecture  on  temperance ! 

John  Greene  and  his  wife  were  both  members 
of  the  company,  but  in  very  subordinate  situa- 
tions. He  happened  to  be  cast  the  Irishman  in 
"  Rosina,"  and  I  was  amazed,  both  at  the  fine  rich 
brogue  he  possessed,  and  his  quaint,  natural 
manner  of  personating  the  Paddy.  I  was  the 
more  surprised,  because  Wood,  to  whom  I  had 
applied  for  information  as  to  the  talent  of  all 
the  strangers  to  me  in  the  company,  had  descri- 
bed this  couple  particularly  as  only  fit  t<>  be  Irust- 
ed  I'-ilk  a  line  m  two.  I  inquired  of  Greene  if  he 
could  study  O'Dcdimus,  a  very  long  part  in  the 


PASSED  AMONG  THE  PLAYERS. 


19 


comedy  called  "  Man  and  Wile,"  which  I  wished 
to  do  lor  Miss  Kelly,  and,  from  necessity,  had 
cast  the  part  to  myself.  Of  course,  he  under- 
took it,  and  played  it  gloriously,  astonished 
everybody,  and  Billy  Wood  into  the  bargain.  / 
got  up  John  Bull,  principally  lor  the  sake  of  his 
JJennis,  and  though,  altogether,  the  play  was 
very  well  performed,  Greene  made  the  great  hit; 
it  was  acted  on  the  stars'  off-nights  for  many  times 
more  than  the  usual  number  of  running  a  stock 
piece,  to  crowded  houses,  and  for  four  or  five  of 
the  benefits,  his  own  among  the  number,  filled 
to  overflowing,  i  have  no  doubt  I  have  seen  a 
hundred  Brulgruderiesin  my  time,  including  Jack 
Johnstone  and  Power,  but  none  of  them  are  fit 
to  hold  a  candle  to  John  Greene,  and  I  feel  cer- 
tain old  George  Colman  "  the  younger"  would 
have  been  exactly  of  my  way  of  thinking. 

Johnstone  was  the  beau  ideal  of  Major  O'Fla- 
herty  and  characters  of  that  class — the  Irish  gen- 
tleman., of  the  Jonah  Barrington  sc/wol,  he  looked, 
and  was — and  Power — the  Thing  itself  for  the  val- 
ets: the  insolence  and  coxcombry  of  such  parts 
he  hit  off  delightfully  on  the  stage,  though  the 
same  style  of  manner  made  him  exceedingly  ob- 
jectionable in  a  green-room. 

But  for  the  Teagues,  the  Murtochs,  and  the 
Looneys,  "the  boys.''  the  genuine,  unsophistica- 
ted Paddy,  with  a  natural  genius  for  cutting  ca- 
nals and  drinking  whiskey,  give  me  the  Native 
American  Irishman,  John  Greene. 

His  good  lady,  of  course,  did  not  remain  long  in 
the  background.  Her  high  respectability  is  now 
loo  generally  known  to  need  any  commendation 
from  me.  She  can  play  the  Queen  in  Hamlet 
better  than  any  one  I  ever  saw  in  America ;  and 
for  the  simple  reason,  that  she  can  play  Lady 
Macbeth  much  better  than  many  who  would  con- 
sider the  CUieen  in  Hamlet  as  derogating  to  their 
talent. 

About  this  time  actors  began  to  be  manufac- 
tured by  wholesale.  The  great  and  deserved 
success  of  Forrest  induced,  of  course,  a  host  of 
athletic  young  men  to  follow  at  a  distance  his 
career.  But  something  more  than  a  mere  imi- 
tation of  his  powers  being  needed  to  command 
attention  to  their  early  efforts,  native  talent  was 
the  medium  through  which  their  claims  to  ex- 
cellence were  expected  to  be  viewed  with  in- 
creased brilliancy,  and  their  failings  entirely  ob- 
scured. Some  few  have  attained  nigh  consider- 
ation ;  but,  unfortunately  for  themselves,  keep- 
ing you  constantly  in  mind  of  their  great  master, 
they  oblige  you  to  take  largely  from  their  own 
intrinsic  merits.  Pelby  was  one  of  the  first  "  na- 
tive American  tragedians;"  that  is,  the  first  who 
made  a  living  exclusively  on  amor  patriae  capi- 
tal. He  had  a  clumsy  figure,  rather  a  good  face, 
and  a  very  peculiar  voice ;  he  could  boast  of 
originality  of  style,  at  any  rate,  for  he  was  to- 
tally unlike  anybody  I  ever  saw  in  my  life.  John 
Jay  Adams  was  taught  to  read  Hamlet  by  Pritch- 
ard  on  condition  that  he  would  appear  for  his 
benefit  at  the  Park,  which  he  did  during  my  first 
season ;  and  I  thought  it  the  very  best  first  at- 
tempt I  ever  saw.  He  was  a  wholesale  tobacco- 
nist, and  retail  dealer  in  literature  ;  he  wrote  very 
pretty  poetry  for  some  of  the  Sunday  papers,  and 
only  played  now  and  then  ;  but  got  worse  by  de- 
grees ;  and  when  1  last  saw  him  he  was  "slack- 
ing bad." 

Cooper's  faults  had  been  so  long  copied,  and, 
of  course,  increased  in  the  appropriation,  that 
there  was  not  an  objectionable,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  original  bit  left  for  a  new  beginner  to  found 


a  style  on;  but  Booth,  keeping,  with  truth  and 
purity,  a  living  likeness  of  Kean's  beauties  full  in 
view,  had,  of  course,  all  the  smaller-sized  mad 
actors  as  his  satellites ;  but  1  know  of  none  worth 
naming  among  them  except  C.  H.  Eaton.  He 
achieved  a  sort  of  popularity,  and  the  distin- 
guished title,  in  the  playbills,  of  the  "Young 
American  Tragedian."  in  addition  to  his  giv- 
ing a  most  excellent  imitation  of  Booth's  acting, 
he  assumed  a  lamentable  caricature  of  his  eccen- 
tricities off  the  stage.  Now  there  was  method 
in  Booth's  madness  :  however  ridiculous  his  an- 
tics were,  they  only  excited  pity,  but  never  laugh- 
ter. There  was  a  melancholy  responsibility,  if 
it  may  so  be  called,  about  all  he  said  and  did 
while  in  "  phrensy's  imagined  mood,"  that  if  you 
believed  he  was  insane,  it  would  grieve  you  to 
the  heart  to  see  a  noble  mind  thus  overthrown  ; 
and  if  you  thought  it  was  assumed,  it  would 
cause  quite  as  painful  a  feeling  to  think  that  one 
so  gifted  should  condescend  to  ape  degraded  na- 
ture. But  Eaton's  secondhand  vagaries  were 
disgusting;  his  distorted  fancies,  too,  like  other 
monstrosities,  had  to  call  in  the  aid  of  alcohol  to 
perpetuate  their  first-conceived  deformity.  Poor 
fellow !  he  carried  the  joke  too  far  at  last,  and  fell 
from  a  balcony  at  his  hotel,  after  performing  one 
night  at  Pittsburgh,  last  May,  and  died  in  a  day 
or  two  afterward. 

During  this  season,  1826-7,  I  had  the  gratifi- 
cation of  introducing  two  of  the  "  fairest  of  crea- 
tion" as  candidates  for  histrionic  fame — a  daugh- 
ter of  Old  Warren  and  a  daughter  of  Old  Jeffer- 
son. They  were  cousins,  and  about  the  same 
age.  Hetty  Warren  had  decidedly  the  best  of 
the  race  for  favour  at  the  start;  but  Elizabeth 
Jefferson  soon  shot  ahead,  and  maintained  a  de- 
cided superiority.  Poor  girls!  they  were  both 
born  and  educated  in  affluence,  and  both  lived  to 
see  their  parents  sink  to  the  grave  in  compara- 
tive poverty.  Hetty  married  a  great  big  man 
called  Willis,  a  very  talented  musician,  much 
against  the  will  of  her  doting  father ;  and,  like 
most  arrangements  of  the  kind,  it  proved  a  sorry 
one.  Elizabeth  became  the  wife  of  Sam  Chap- 
man in  1828 ;  he  was  a  very  worthy  fellow,  with 
both  tact  and  talent  in  his  favour,  and  her  lot 
promised  unbounded  happiness.  Who  could 
have  imagined  that  this  young  creature's  heart 
should  have  been  lacerated,  and  the  entangle- 
ment of  a  first  and  fervent  love  unravelled  and 
let  loose  for  life,  because  the  Reading  mail  was 
robbed'?  but  so  it  was.  Now  is  this  fate"]  What 
should  it  be  called  if  it  is  not  ? 

The  Reading  mail  stage,  with  four  fine,  fast 
horses — for  Jemmy  Reeside  had  trie  contract — with 
nine  male  passengers  and  the  driver,  was  stopped 
by  three  footpads — Porter,  Potete,  and  Wilson — 
a  few  miles  from  Philadelphia,  in  the  middle  of 
the  night.  The  horses  were  unhitched,  and  fast- 
ened to  the  fence,  the  driver's  and  the  passen- 
gers' hands  tied  behind  them  with  their  own 
handkerchiefs,  and  quietly  and  civilly  rifled  of 
their  property,  without  their  making  the  slightest 
resistance!  A  watch,  I  think,  said  to  be  the 
gift  of  a  mother  or  wife,  and  some  other  matters 
of  private  value,  Porter,  an  Irishman,  and  the 
principal  robber,  politely  returned ;  helped  him- 
self to  a  "chaw"  of  tobacco,  and  replaced  the 
"plug"  in  the  passenger's  pocket;  gave  another 
some  loose  change ;  and,  in  fact,  conducted  the 
whole  affair  with  most  admired  decorum,  and 
then  took  a  respectful  leave  of  his  ten  victims,  sent 
his  aides,  with  the  mail-bags,  into  the  woods,  and 
departed.    The  entire  operation  was  considered 


80 


THIRTY   YEARS 


the  most  gentlemanly  piece  of  Mghwayism  that 
had  occurred  for  some  time,  and  caused  much 
excitement.  Potcte  turned  state's  evidence;  Wil- 
son's life  was  spared  by  President  Jackson,  and 
Porter,  whose  courage  and  urbanity  were  the  ad- 
miration of  everybody,  was  hanged. 

Chapman,  who  was  extremely  clever  at  dram- 
atizing local  matters,  took  a  ride  out  to  the  scene 
of  the  robbery,  the  better  to  regulate  the  action 
of  a  piece  he  was  preparing  on  the  subject,  was 
thrown  from  his  horse,  and  slightly  grazed  his 
shoulder.  He  had  to  wear  that  night  a  suit  of 
brass  armour,  and  the  weather  being  excessive- 
ly hot,  he  wore  it  next  his  skin,  which  increased 
the  excoriation ;  and  it  was  supposed  the  verde- 
gris  had  poisoned  the  wound.  At  any  rate,  he 
died  in  a  week  after  the  accident,  and  left  his 
young  wife,  near  her  confinement,  and  a  widow 
in  less  than  a  year  after  her  happy  marriage. 

"  Oh  !  grief  beyond  all  other  griefs,  when  fate 
First  leaves  the  young  heart  lone  and  desolate 
In  the  wide  world." 

It  is  the  custom  in  Philadelphia  for  a  vast 
Dumber  of  persons  to  attend  all  funerals.  Chap- 
man being  popular,  his  death  sudden  and  singu- 
lar, and  his  poor  little  wife  a  native  of  the  city, 
and  adored  by  everybody,  an  immense  concourse 
assembled.  I  walked  and  talked,  as  is  the  fash- 
ion, at  the  heels  of  some  two  hundred  peripatet- 
ics, arm  in  arm  with  Edwin,  the  well  known 
and  excellent  stipple-engraver,  and  the  son  of 
the  great  comedian,  the  original  Lingo,  and 
Darby.  We  were  deep  in  disputation,  and  over 
our  shoes  in  mud  in  crossing  a  street,  when  an- 
other large  funeral  procession  passed  through 
ours,  in  another  direction,  and  caused  some  con- 
fusion. Absorbed  in  listening  to  anecdotes  of  his 
father,  and  Lord  Barrymore's  private  theatricals, 
Ave  reached  the  cemetery,  and  I  proposed  that 
Ave  should  make  our  way  towards  the  grave, 
that  the  poor  father  and  brother  might  be  aware 
of  our  attendance  ;  we  did  so,  and  listened  to  a 
portion  of  the  beautiful  service,  then  looked 
round,  with  that  timid  glance  always  assumed 
on  such  occasions ;  but  no  sorrowful  look  of 
recognition  was  exchanged ;  every  face  was 
strange;  I  nudged  my  companion;  we  peeped 
under  the  handkerchief  of  each  weeping  mourn- 
er; there  was  no  Old  Chapman  with  spectacles 
bedewed;  turned  round  at  a  stifled  sob;  it  was 
not  Williams;  no,  nor  anybody  that  we  knew; 
all  were  strangers.  The  truth  stared  us  in  the 
face — we  had  got  mixed  up  in  the  other  proces- 
sion, and  had  been  making  believe  to  cry  over 
the  wrong  corpse ! 

A  mind  such  as  Forrest's,  running  riot,  like 
the  vines  of  his  native  woods,  in  uncultivated 
luxuriance,  was  predisposed  to  be  impressed 
with  an  enthusiasm  amounting  to  adoration  by 
the  electrical  outbreakings  of  such  a  genius  as 
Jvean's, 

"  Who,  passing  nature's  bounds,  was  something  more." 

But  a  model,  whose  excellence  was  inspira- 
tion, gave  an  impetus,  rather  than  a  check,  to 
its  own  naturally  wild,  spontaneous  growth ; 
and,  untrained  by  art,  Forrest's  splendid  talent, 
choked  by  its  own  voluptuousness,  might  even 
now  be  rotting  in  obscurity.  Macready's  arri- 
val in  this  country  may,  therefore,  be  said  to 
have  formed  an  epoch  in  the  history  of  the 
American  drama. 

"  In  ancient  learning  train'd, 
His  rigid  judgment  fancy's  flights  restrained, 
Correctly  pruned  each  wild,  luxuriant  thought, 
Mark'd  out  her  course,  nor  spared  a  glorious  fault." 


This  great  practical  example  of  the  power  of 
art  over  impulse  was  not  lost  upon  Forrest. 
Without  condescending  to  imitate  the  manner, 
he  imitated  the  means  whereby  such  eminence 
had  been  attained,  and  has  achieved  a  glorious 
reward  lor  his  industry  and  self-government. 

I  had  only  seen  Macready  three  times  before 
I  met  him  in  Philadelphia,  and  that  was  in 
London — once  in  Rob  Roy,  and  twice  in  Pes- 
cara,  a  most  extraordinary  and  original  concep- 
tion. The  impression  that  comprehensible  per- 
formance made  on  me,  time  still  permits  me  to 
enjoy  in  full  recollection,  though  at  the  same 
period  I  only  remember  that  Charles  Young, 
Charles  Kemble,  and  Miss  O'Niel  sustained 
the  other  principal  characters. 

Macready  could  neither  boast  of  face  nor  fig- 
ure, but  both  were  under  such  command,  that 
they  were  everything  which  was  required,  in 
every  character  he  undertook.  By-the-by,  it  has 
been  often  remarked  that  we  are  very  much 
alike — of  course,  I  mean  off  the  stage — but  I  beg 
most  particularly  to  request  those  who  are  not 
acquainted  with  my  personal  appearance  to  un- 
derstand that  I  am  much  the  belter-looking  fellow 
of  the  two. 


CHAPTER  X. 

"  The  best  actors  in  the  world,  either  for  tragedy,  com- 
edy, history,  pastoral,  pastoral-comical,  historical-pasto- 
ral, tragical-historical,  tragical-comical,  historical-pastoral, 
scene  individable,  or  poem  unlimited  :  Seneca  cannot  be  too 
heavy,  nor  Plautus  too  light.  For  the  law  of  writ,  and  the 
liberty,  these  are  the  only  men." — Hamlet. 

Meanwhile  the  circus  had  become  so  unprof- 
itable that  the  amateur  stockholders  were  well 
inclined  to  sell  out.  I  parted  company  with 
Warren,  and  Simpson  and  myself  became  the 
sole  proprietors. 

The  best  of  my  dramatic  company  having 
"got  half  lost  and  scattered,"  I  had  to  form  a 
new  one.  Fortunately  for  me,  John  Hallam 
was  most  anxious  to  go  to  England  for  a  wife 
he  had  chosen  there.  People  ollen  fall  in  love 
when  they  cannot  afford  to  pay  for  it,  but  now 
he  thought  he  might  prudently  indulge  in  this 
expensive  luxury ;  and  I  gave  him  an  agency,  at 
the  same  time,  to  engage  any  talented  people  he 
might  meet  with  likely  to  suit  me.  He  dis- 
charged this  trust  as  he  did  everything,  most 
faithfully;  but,  of  course,  he  secured  the  ser- 
vices of  Mrs.  Hallam  and  her  sister,  Miss  Ra- 
chel Stannard,  and  her  sister  Mrs.  Mitchell,  and 
her  husband  Mr.  Mitchell ;  the  rest  of  the  fam- 
ily wouldn't  come,  I  suppose.  The  only  females 
he  introduced  to  an  American  audience,  with 
the  exception  of  his  new  relations,  were  Mrs. 
Lane  and  her  talented  little  daughter,  now  the 
beautiful  and  accomplished  Mrs.  Hunt,  of  the 
Park  Theatre. 

Warren  engaged  Francis  Courtney  Wemyss 
to  supply  my  place  ;  a  very  worthy  fellow,  proud, 
and  justly  so,  of  being  the  descendant  of  several 
earls  in  Scotland,  and  some  lords  in  England; 
he  has  been  buffeting  with  the  spotted  fortunes 
of  management  ever  since,  till  very  lately,  and 
now  I  see  he  advertises  to  sell,  in  a  cellar  in 
Philadelphia,  perfumery,  tetter  ointment,  and 
cheap  publications.  I  hope  he  will  recommend 
this  book  to  his  customers. 

As  soon  as  Hallam's  mission  was  known, 
Warren  despatched  Wemyss  on  a  similar  er- 
rand ;  but  Hallam  was  limited  to  give  only  three 


PASSED    AMONG    THE    PLAYERS. 


81 


guineas  per  week,  as  the  highest  salary.  We- 
myss  had  to  pay  much  more,  of  course,  as  he 
selected  persons  who,  by  talent  or  circumstances, 
had  achieved  some  kind  of  reputation  in  Eng- 
land. Now  my  lot  had  never  been  heard  of  out 
of  their  own  little  circle,  with  the  exception  of  my 
principal  man,  Grierson,  and  Hallam  prided 
himself  on  having  secured  the  original  Duke  of 
Wellington  in  the  "  Battle  of  Waterloo,"  at  Ast- 
ley's.  I  was  in  successful  operation  at  Philadel- 
phia when  Simpson  sent  me  an  account  of  their 
arrival  in  the  ship  Britannia,  my  old  friend,  C. 
H.  Marshall,  commander.  They  could  not  com- 
plain of  their  mode  of  conveyance ;  they  had  the 
same  skilful  captain  who  landed  me  here  safe 
and  sound,  and  a  magnificent  vessel.  Charles 
Irish,  of  yellow-fever  memory,  then  kept  a  "sec- 
ondary kind  of  hotel,  where  Hallam  was  in- 
structed to  put  up  and  remain  a  day  or  two,  that 
the  party  might  recover  the  fatigues  of  the  voy- 
.  age  and  see  the  lions  of  New- York.  The  bill  of 
expenses  rendered  to  me  on  this  occasion  re- 
minded me  of  Falstaff's : 
"  Item.  Sack,  two  gallons 5s.  8r/. 

Item.  Anchovies  and  sack  after  supper,  2s.  6d. 

Item.  Bread,  a  halfpenny." 
This  was  supposed  to  happen  during  the  reign  of 
Henry  IV.     The  following  did  happen  during 
the  reign  of  Simpson  and  Cowell: 

"Mr.  John  Hallam 

To  Charles  Irish. 
One  day's  board  and  lodging  for  self 

and  party $18  50 

Refreshments  at  bar 56  00  !  ! 

$74  50." 

Hallam  was  a  jolly  dog  himself,  and,  of  course, 
he  took  care  that  the  representatives  of  the  Brit- 
ish drama,  at  that  day,  should  do  the  thing  hand- 
somely by  their  new  associates.  They  were  very 
foreign,  both  in  appearance  and  manner — Eng- 
lish country  actors  are  very  odd-looking  people — 
but,  on  the  whole,  I  was  well  pleased  with  hon- 
est John  Hallam's  selection.     Of  course  I  made 
the  most  of  them,  and  they  all   had   opening 
parts.     Grierson  chose  Rolla  for  his  ddbut,  and 
the  same  play  served  to  introduce  Mrs.  Mitchell 
as  Cora.    She  had  a  very  pretty  face  and  a  broad 
Lincolnshire  dialect;  and  her  person  strongly 
reminding  me  of  the  great  Mrs.  Davenport,  I 
doubled  her  salary,  on  condition  that  she  would 
undertake  the   old  women,  in  which  she  was 
highly  successful.     Pretty  women  always  con- 
trive to  get  well  paid,  even  to  make  themselves 
ugly.    Grierson  was  very  tall  and  very  uncouth 
in  his  deportment,  and  so  near-sighted  that  it 
amounted  to  blindness;  and  in  the  scene  where 
he  has  to  seize  the  child,  not  having  the  little 
creature  thrust  into  his  arms,  the  necessity  for 
which  he  had  pointed  out  in  the  mornh  g,  he 
fumbled  about  for  an  instant,  and  then  caught 
Charley  Lee  instead  by  the  nape  of  his  neck, 
and  would  have  whirled  him  oft  if  not  rescued 
by  the  soldiers.     The  public  were  well  inclined 
to  believe  all  I  did  was  right  at  that  time,  but  I 
had  put  their  temper  to  a  serious  trial  that  night. 
But,  fortunately,  a   most  vehement   appeal   in 
good  plain  English,  by  the  beautiful  'ittle  boy 
who  played  Cora's  child,  to  have  some  domestic 
matters  attended  to  immediately,  and  being  dis- 
regarded, the  evidence  that  it  should  have  been, 
trickling  down  the  stage,  put  the  audience  in 
such  high  good-humour,  that  the  play  escaped 
disapprobation.    The  house  was  crowded  to  the 


ceiling.     I  stood  for  a  few  minutes  behind  poor 
old  Warren. 

"  If  this  is  Cowell's  great  gun,"  said  he,  "  why 
he's  a  pop-gun." 

But  it  was  not:  W.  H.  Smith  became  an  im- 
mense favourite.  He  was  one  of  those  pink- 
looking  men,  with  yellow  hair,  that  the  ladies 
always  admire,  and  in  his  day  was  considered 
the  best  fop  and  light  comedian  on  the  continent. 
I  doubled  his  salary  directly. 

John  Sefton  was  a  sort  of  a  failure ;  though 
very  queer  and  excellent  in  little  bits,  he  did  not 
hit  the  audience  till  he  got  to  Baltimore;  and 
there,  his  skilful  personation  of  the  Marquis,  in. 
the  "Cabinet,"  made  his  two  pounds  ten  into 
twenty  dollars.  Some  years  since  he  played 
Jemmy  Twitcher,  in  the  "  Golden  Farmer,"  at 
New- York,  in  a  little  theatre  called  the  Franklin. 
The  audience  were  peculiarly  capable  of  appre- 
ciating his  talent,  and  his  fame  is  hinged  entirely 
on  that  one  part;  his  appearance  is  the  thing  it- 
self—equal to  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds's  picture  of 
"  Mercury  as  a  Pickpocket." 

The  equestrian  business  ceasing  to  be  so  at- 
tractive, I  determined  to  get  rid  of  that  portion 
of  our  expenses — sent  the  company  to  Wilming- 
ton, Delaware,  where  a  temporary  building  was 
prepared,  and  had  the  ring  fitted  up  as  a  spacious 
pit,  and  in  September,  1827,  opened  the  Phila- 
delphia Theatre,  Walnut-street. 

Wemyss  returned  from  England  with  his  par- 
ty. But  too  much  was  expected  from  them; 
and  in  this  interim  my  company  had  got  licked 
into  shape,  and  had  grown  into  favour  with  the 
audience.  They  underlined  Venice  Preserved  and 
the  Young  Widow,  to  introduce  some  of  their 
new  people  — Belvidera,  Miss  E.  ?ry;  Jaffier, 
Mr.  Southwell ;  and  Pierre,  Mr.  S.  Chapman ; 
their  first  appearance  in  America— there  were 
not  more  than  two  hundred  persons  in  the  house. 
I  had  the  same  pieces  performed  on  the  same 
evening,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hamblin  in  the  princi- 
pal characters,  and  had  upward  of  fourteen 
hundred!  The  full  tide  of  public  opinion  was 
in  our  favour.  We  could  play  three  light  pieces 
for  a  week  in  succession,  to  six  and  seven  hun- 
dred dollars  a  night;  when  the  Chestnut-street 
would  prepare  an  expensive  performance,  or, 
rather,  display  an  expensive  company  to  thirty 
persons. 

Among  other  stars,  I  engaged  Cooper,  who 
took  his  leave  of  an  American  audience,  with 
whom  he  had  been  so  many  years  the  idol,  prior 
to  his  departure  for  Europe;  and  he  played  his 
round  of  characters  to  crowded  houses.  He  had 
prepared  an  excellent  farewell  speech;  but  it  be- 
ing his  own  composition,  he  had  not  thought  it 
necessary  to  fasten  it  so  securely  on  his  memory, 
as  no  doubt  he  would  have  done  had  it  been 
the  production  of  another's  pen.  The  veteran, 
too,  evinced  much  feeling  at  having  to  say  sood- 
by,  perhaps  forever,  to  a  people  among  whom, 
he  had  made  so  long  and  happy  a  sojourn;  and, 
in  his  embarrassment,  forgot  the  words.  He  is 
a  very  incompetent  extemporaneous  speaker ; 
and  thinking  it  a  pity  some  very  pretty  thoughts 
he  had  put  on  paper  should  be  wasted,  explained 
the  dilemma  he  was  placed  in,  and  begged  per- 
mission to  read  what  he  had  written ;  but,  un- 
fortunately, the  manuscript  was  in  his  own 
hand;  and  believing  it, 

"  As  our  statists  do,  a  baseness  to  write  fair," 

it  was  almost  illegible,  and  occupying  both  sides 
of  a  sheet  of  foolscap,  which  became  transparent 


82 


THIRTY    YEARS 


■when  held  behind  the  foot-lights,  both  pages  were 
mixed  up  together,  so  that  it  became  impossible 
to  smoothly  deliver  the  sense,  and  he  was  obliged 
at  last  to  give  up  the  task,  said  a  few  words 
•warm  from  the  heart,  and  some  honest  tears 
were  shed  on  all  sides. 

Baltimore  had  for  years  been  visited  by  War- 
ren and  Wood,  with  the  same  jog-trot  company 
and  the  same  old  pieces,  till  they  had  actually 
taught  the  audience  to  stay  away,  and  it  had 
then  the  reputation  of  being  the  worst  theatrical 
town  in  the  Union.  I  had  always  had  enormous 
success  there  with  my  circus  company;  and, en- 
couraged to  the  undertaking  by  a  host  of  friends, 
I  leased  the  theatre  from  the  committee,  all  of 
them  my  personal  well-wishers.  I  had  the  house 
thoroughly  repaired  and  decorated,  the  lobbies 
carpeted,  and  stoves  erected  there  and  under  the 
stage.  The  gallery,  which  had  become  an  un- 
profitable nuisance,  I  dispensed  with  entirely, 
and  made  that  entrance  serve  for  the  third  tier, 
effectually  separating  the  visiters  to  that  section 
from  the  decorous  part  of  the  house.  There  was 
a  corporation  tax  of  ten  dollars  on  every  night's 
performance,  which  Warren  and  Wood  had  for 
years  been  trying  to  get  removed;  but  the  influ- 
ence of  my  powerful  friends  got  it  instantly  re- 
duced one  half!  Strict  police  regulations  were 
adopted,  and  carried  most  rigorously  into  effect; 
and  in  November,  1827,  we  commenced  the  sea- 
son. 

Hamblin  was  my  first  star,  to  whom  I  paid 
one  hundred  dollars  per  night,  and  played  to 
half  the  amount :  a  very  dingy  beginning,  but  1 
had  "  confidence,  which  is  more  than  hope,"  of 
a  good  season  yet. 

I  was  sitting  one  night  at  the  back  of  one  of 
the  boxes:  the  play  was  the  Revenge;  there  are 
but  seven  characters  in  the  tragedy,  and  necessa- 
rily they  are  all  very  long.  Smith  was  Alonzo, 
and  Grierson,  Carlos.  In  the  same  box  with  me 
was  a  tall,  Kentucky-looking  man,  alone — the 
house  was  literally  empty — and  during  a  very 
tedious  scene  of  theirs,  he  leaned  back,  and  said 
to  me,  in  a  loud  tone, 

"  I  say,  stranger,  has  that  long-legged  fellow 
got  much  more  to  say  in  this  business  V 

I  answered  in  the  affirmative. 

"  Then,"  said  he,  striding  over  the  seats,  "  they 
are  welcome  to  my  dollar,  for  I  can't  stand  list- 
ening to  his  preaching  any  longer;"  and  away  he 
went. 

My  company  could  boast  of  little  tragic  talent, 
but  in  comedy  we  worked  together  very  happily. 
Wells  was  my  ballet-master,  and  that  depart- 
ment, under  his  experienced  direction,  was  very 
effective.  The  business  continued  most  wretch- 
ed for  two  or  three  weeks  ;  but,  fortunately, 
we  were  able  to  make  all  our  payments  reg- 
ularly, and  I  professed  to  be  perfectly  satisfied 
with  the  certainty  of  having  a  fine  season  ulti- 
mately. Messrs.  Dobbin,  Murphy,  and  Bose, 
the  proprietors  of  the  American,  had  always 
been  our  printers;  but  General  Robinson  then 
kept  a  much-frequented,  fashionable  circula- 
ting library,  and  I  gave  him  the  printing,  that  it 
might  be  to  his  interest,  as  well  as  inclination, 
to  talk  in  our  favour,  which  he  did  most  success- 
fully and  kindly.  My  worthy  host,  too,  David 
Barn n in — the  emperor  of  all  hotel-keepers  —  was 
most  enthusiastic  in  his  efforts  to  promote  my 
interests.  It  is  delightful  to  think  that,  after  so 
many  years  of  checkered  fortune  passed,  that 
this  very  night,  here  in  Baltimore,  in  July,  1813, 
we  should  take  our  glass  of  "  old  rye"  together, 


in  the  same  favourite  corner;  laugh  old  matters 
over,  and  refine  upon  the  refinements  of  the 
gout,  which  we  have  both  so  honestly  earned. 

Simpson  sent  me  all  the  stars,  in  increasing 
attraction;  and  the  season  of  1827-8  is  spoken 
of  up  to  this  day  as  the  most  brilliant  ever  known 
in  Baltimore.  Forrest,  Hackett,  Barnes,  Horn, 
Pearman,  Hamblin,  Mrs.  Austin,  Mrs.  Knight, 
Miss  Kelly,  and  the  captivating  Clara  Fisher — 
worth  the  whole  of  them  at  that  day — appeared 
in  rapid  succession.  She  played  with  me  for  six 
weeks,  to  a  succession  of  overflowing  houses.  No- 
thing could  exceed  the  enthusiasm  with  which 
this  most  amiable  creature  was  received  every- 
where. "Clara  Fisher"  was  the  name  given  to 
everything  it  could  possibly  be  applied  to :  ships, 
steamboats,  racehorses,  mint-juleps,  and  negro 
babies.  Charles  Fisher  established  a  newspaper 
in  New- York,  called  the  "  Spirit  of  the  Times," 
and,  to  secure  popularity  to  it  and  himself,  ad- 
vertised it  as  "  edited  by  C.  J.  B.  Fisher,  brother 
to  the  celebrated  Clara  Fisher."  A  hack  propri- 
etor started  an  omnibus,  and,  of  course,  called  it 
the  "  Clara  Fisher ,-"  and  another  had  another, 
called  "the  celebrated  Clara  Fisher;"  and  another 
yet,  determined  not  to  be  outdone,  named  his 
'"Brother  to  tlic  celebrated  Clara  Fisher!"  But 
anything  so  overdone  was  not  likely  to  last,  in 
her  evanescent  profession.  She  married  Ma?derT 
a  very  pleasing  composer  and  talented  musician ; 
and  though  no  diminution  could  be  discovered, 
by  the  calm  observer,  in  her  intrinsic  merit,  the 
charm  was  broken,  and  she  only  now,  as  Clara 
Fisher,  in  remembrance  lives. 

Washington  City  could  then  only  boast  of  a 
very  small  theatre,  in  a  very  out-of-the-way  sit- 
uation, and  used  by  Warren  and  Wood  as  a  sort 
of  summer  retreat  for  their  company;  where  the 
disciples  of  Isaac  Walton,  with  old  Jefferson  at 
their  head,  might  indulge  their  fishing  propensi- 
ties, without  having  them  interfered  with  by 
either  rehearsals  or  study. 

Now  Miss  Fisher  had  so  turned  the  heads  of 
the  public  in  Baltimore,  that  I  thought  it  a  safe 
experiment  to  try  if  she  couldn't  turn  the  heads 
of  the  government,  then  in  session,  and  I  hired 
the  theatre  for  an  optional  number  of  nights. 
"  There  is  nothing  like  getting  up  an  excite- 
ment," Pelby  used  to  say.  I  immediately  set  a 
swarm  of  carpenters  at  work  to  bang  out  the 
backs  of  the  boxes  and  extend  the  seats  into  the 
lobbies,  which,  in  all  the  theatres  built  since  the 
awful  loss  of  life  by  the  Richmond  fire,  were 
ridiculously  large  in  proportion  to  the  space  al- 
lotted to  the  audience.  As  the  house  had  seldom 
or  ever  been  full,  small  as  it  was,  my  preparing 
it  to  hold  twice  the  number  which  had  ever  tried 
to  get  in  appeared  somewhat  extraordinary. 
Mashing  down  thin  partitions,  in  an  open  space, 
plastered  into  a  ceiling,  is  a  most  conspicuously- 
dusty  and  noisy  operation,  and  attracted,  as  I 
wished,  numerous  inquiries — the  doors  being  all 
thrown  open — and  my  people  were  instructed 
simply  to  say,  that  "the  house  wasn't  half  large 
enough  to  accommodate  the  crowds  which  would 
throng  to  sec  Clara  Fisher."  The  plan  succeeded 
to  a  nicety.  Never  had  there  been  such  a  scram- 
ble for  places  before  in  the  capital — I  mean  in 
the  theatre.  At  the  end  of  two  days  every  seat 
was  secured  for  the  whole  of  her  engagement. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  first  performance  I  got 
a  note  from  John  duincy  Adams,  then  the  Pres- 
ident, requiring  a  certain  box  for  that  evening, 
directed  to  "  Mr.  Manager  of  tM  Tlicatrc"  and  I 
sent  a  reply,  regretting  that  he  couldn't  have  it 


PASSED    AMONG    THE    PLAYERS. 


83 


till  five  nights  afterward,  directed  to  "Mr.  Man- 
ager of  the  United  States."  I  was  afterward  told 
that  the  kind  old  man  was  highly  amused  by  the 
response. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

"  Quince.  Have  you  sent  to  Bottom's  house?  Is  he  come 
home  yet? 

"  Starveling.  He  cannot  be  heard  of.  Out  of  doubt  he  is 
transported. 

"  Flute.  If  he  comes  not,  then  the  play  is  marr'd  ;  it  goes 
not  forward,  doth  it .' 

"  Quince.  It  is  not  possible.  You  have  not  a  man  in  all 
Athens  able  to  discharge  Pyramus  but  he." 

Midsummer  Night's  Dream. 

In  consequence  of  the  extraordinary  success 
which  had  attended  the  temporary  alteration  of 
the  Walnut-street  Circus,  the  proprietors  were 
easily  persuaded  to  convert  it  into  a  permanent 
theatre.  A  lease  on  my  own  terms  was  grant- 
ed for  ten  years.  Tamy  experience  was  left  the 
general  detail  of  the  improvements,  and  the  cel- 
ebrated John  Haviland  was  chosen  as  the  archi- 
tect, and  the  present  Walnut-street  Theatre  was 
erected  withinside  the  walls  of  the  old  building. 
Scarcely  had  the  note  of  preparation  been  sound- 
ed, when  an  entirety  new  theatre  was  proposed  to 
be  built  in  Arch-street  by  some  property-holders 
in  that  neighbourhood.  Building  theatres  was 
supposed  to  be  an  excellent  investment  of  capital 
at  that  time,  and  a  good  excuse  lor  elderly,  se- 
date, GLuaker-bred  gentlemen  to  take  a  peep  at  a 
play,  or  a  look  at  what  was  going  on  behind  the 
scenes  in  the  character  of  a  stockholder. 

It  had  already  been  proved  past  a  doubt  to  my 
mind  and  poor  Warren's  pocket,  that  Philadel- 
phia would  not  or  could  not  support  more  than 
one  establishment  of  the  sort ;  and  tlic  one  the 
public  would  most  probably  select,  in  despite  of 
my  popularity,  would  most  likely  be  the  new  one, 
and  I  began  to  tremble  for  the  consequences. 
While  I  was  wavering  as  to  the  course  I  should 
pursue,  through  the  instrumentality  of  my  friend 
Hamblin  I  received  an  offer  from  the  proprietors 
of  the  Tremont  Theatre  at  Boston  to  undertake 
its  direction  for  forty  weeks,  for  the  sum  of  four 
thousand  five  hundred  dollars,  which,  after  duly 
weighing  all  the  consequences,  prudence,  and 
the  persuasion  of  my  friends,  induced  me  to  ac- 
cept. And  that  I  did  /  have  most  heartily  regret- 
ted ever  since. 

It  was  then  late  in  June,  and  I  instantly  set  off 
for  Boston.  Nearly  all  the  proprietors  there 
were  my  personal  friends,  and  they  readily 
agreed  to  take  off  my  hands  such  engagements 
as  I  had  entered  into — ainong  them  Miss  Stan- 
nard,  Hallam,  and  Smith — and  all  other  stipula- 
tions which  I  suggested  were  readily  agreed  to; 
and  with  two  thousand  dollars  in  cash  to  bind 
the  bargain,  I  returned  to  Philadelphia. 

As  I  passed  through  Providence,  on  my  way 
to  Boston,  I  had  promised  Arthur  Keene  that  I 
would  give  him  notice  of  the  exact  day  I  would 
return,  that  he  might  advertise  me  to  appear  for 
his  benefit. 

He  was  a  sweet,  untaught  singer,  in  the  style 
of  Paddy  Webb,  an  Irishman  by  birth,  and  over- 
flowing with  fun  and  national  modesty.  He  made 
his  first  appearance  in  America  at  the  Park,  in 
Henry  Bertram.  A  duet,  his  portion  of  which 
is  sung  behind  the  scenes,  with  the  exception  of 
the  last  line,  was  to  introduce  him  to  the  audi- 
ence. The  air  is  very  pretty,  and  the  words,  as 
I  have  ever  heard  them,  very  innocent,  at  any 
rate : 


"  List,  love,  'tis  ay — ay — I, 
Rum  tuin  ti  di-i-ay ; 
Where  art  thou,  rum  turn  !" 

Then  he  should  rush  on,  and,  embracing  Miss 
Mannering,  most  energetically  sing, 
"  I'm  here,  I'm  here  I'' 

but,  unfortunately,  forgetting,  in  the  anxiety  of  the 
moment,  that  there  was  a  threshold  to  the  folding 
doors  of  the  tlat,  his  toe  caught  the  impediment, 
and  with  the  tune  in  his  throat,  he  came  sprawl- 
ing down  the  stage  on  his  face,  close  to  the  foot 
lights;  in  an  instant  he  was  on  his  feet,  and,  at 
the  very  top  of  his  falsetto,  shouted, 

"  I'm  here,  I'm  here  1" 
and  he  probably  got  a  more  joyous  reception 
than  he  would  have  done  under  the  usual  cir- 
cumstances. 

I  left  Boston  in  the  mail-stage,  after  a  jolly 
supper,  at  one  in  the  morning,  and  arrived  at 
Providence,  Rhode  Island,  in  time  for  rehearsal, 
the  same  day.  The  weather  was  excruciatingly 
hot,  as  hot  weather  always  is  in  high  latitudes 
when  it  is  hot,  and  after  dinner  I  determined  to 
take  my  lost  share  of  sleep.  I  took  a  file  of 
papers,  that  most  efficacious  lullaby,  from  the 
reading-room,  and  finding  a  mattress  thrown  in 
the  corner  of  a  balcony,  where  all  the  air  Provi- 
dence could  bestow  appeared  to  flutter,  I  ar- 
ranged a  siesta.  When  I  awoke  it  was  dusk, 
and  after  repairing  my  toilet,  I  set  off  for  the 
theatre,  all  my  companions  being  there,  though 
I  only  had  to  play  Crack,  in  the  last  piece.  As 
I  passed  through  the  bar  I  inquired  of  a  servant 
sweeping  it  out,  "What  is  the  time-?" 

"  About  four,  sir,"  said  he. 

"About  four!"  said  1:  "about  eight,  more 
likely,"  and  on  I  walked. 

The  shops  were  all  closed,  and  everything 
appeared  particularly  quiet;  but  the  steady 
habits  of  Providence  I  was  prepared  for  by  long 
report,  and,  therelbre,  its  appearance  was  not 
extraordinary.  The  carriers  hanging  the  even- 
ing papers  on  the  knobs  of  the  doors,  or  in- 
sinuating them  underneath,  were  the  only  hu- 
man beings  I  met  with  on  my  way  to  the  thea- 
tre, which,  to  my  astonishment,  I  found  closed 
and  quiet.  A  thought  flashed  across  my  mind — 
Could  it  be  possible?  I  made  an  inquiry  of  a 
milkman,  and  found,  to  my  amazement,  that  it 
was  not  to-night,  but  to-inorrovi  morning. 

To  return  to  the  hotel  and  make  ah  explana- 
tion I  knew  full  well  would  be  at  the  expense 
of  remaining  to  perform  that  night;  so  I  sneak- 
ed on  board  the  Connecticut  steamboat,  which 
was  to  take  me  to  New- York,  leaving  my  bag- 
gage behind.  My  old  friend  Captain  Bunker 
met  me  with  astonishment;  he  had  been  at  the 
play,  and  fully  described  the  consternation  I  had 
occasioned.  The  theatre  had  been  crowded, 
and  after  every  room  in  the  Franklin  Hotel  had 
been  searched,  and  every  conceivable  place  in 
the  city,  it  had  been  unanimously  agreed  that, 
in  walking  to  the  theatre  after  dark,  that  I  had 
walked  off  one  of  the  docks,  and  already  a  re- 
ward had  been  offered  for  the  recovery  of  my  body. 
But  that  my  business  was  too  urgent  for  me  to 
spare  the  time,  I  would  have  delivered  myself 
up,  for  the  joke's  sake,  and  claimed  the  ten  dol- 
lars; but  as  it  was,  I  got  Bunker  to  keep  my 
secret,  and  laid  perdue  in  the  ladies'  cabin  till 
the  boat  was  off,  and  took  the  news  of  my  sup- 
posed untimely  end,  to  personally  contradict  it 
at  New- York  and  Philadelphia. 

So  popular  was  I  at  that  time  with  the  pro- 


m 


THIRTY   YEARS 


prietors  of  the  Walnut-street,  that  I  had  as 
much  trouble  in  getting  rid  of  the  lease  as  most 
persons  would  have  had  in  getting  one  granted. 
It  was  opened  in  the  fall  with  an  excellent  but 
most  extravagant  company,  under  the  direction 
of  William  Rufus  Blake  and  Inslee,  the  latter 
having  made  a  supposed  fortune  as  keeper  of 
the  almshouse,  and  the  former  only  wanting 
one  to  be  fully  considered  one  of  the  best  fellows 
in  the  world. 

Near] j  the  whole  company  had  been  selected 
for  the  Tremont  prior  to  my  engagement,  and 
Booth  had  been  appointed  siage-manager  for  a 
month.  And  it  was  whimsical  enough,  in  ig- 
norance of  my  having  the  whole  control,  his  of- 
fering me  a  situation  for  the  season,  of  fifty  dol- 
lars a  week.  I  thanked  him,  and  did  not  tell 
him  then  why  I  declined  the  offer. 

The  arrangements  at  the  Tremont  Theatre 
were  both  costly  and  injudicious;  and  therefore, 
though  the  season  was  a  brilliant  one,  it  was 
most  unprofitable.  Booth  received  one  hundred 
dollars  for  each  night's  performance ;  and  Ham- 
blin,  for  twenty  or  twenty-four,  the  same  terms. 
On  one  occasion,  the  "direction,"  wished  in 
some  other  way  to  occupy  one  of  his  nights; 
and  they  not  only  paid  him  the  one  hundred  dol- 
lars for  his  sirpi)oscd  playing,  but  gave  him  an- 
other hundred  tor  not  playing ;  or,  in  other  words, 
they  gave  him  two  hundred  dollars  to  be  kind 
enough  not  to  perform  at  all  for  one  night  only. 

He  was  on  a  visit  to  my  house  during  his  so- 
journ at  Boston ;  and  while  amusing  himself 
with  my  children,  during  a  leisure  morning, 
made  the  discovery  that  my  dear  boy  Samuel 
was  perfect,  both  in  the  words  and  music  of 
Crack,  in  the  Turnpike  Gate,  and  could  give 
an  excellent  imitation  of  his  father  in  that  char- 
acter. Afier  dinner  we  had  a  full  rehearsal. 
The  pianoforte  was  put  in  requisition,  and 
Hamblin  and  myself  played  the  off-parts  by 
turns.  I  confess  I  thought  he  was  extremely 
clever — what  father  would  not1?  Hamblin  was 
in  ecstasies  of  admiration,  and  Sam's  talent  fur- 
nished food  for  a  chat  in  my  room  at  the  theatre 
that  evening:;  and  Dana,  the  principal  of  the 
committee  of  management,  pertinently  said, 

"Now,  Cowell,  \\you  were  to  have  the  profits 
of  your  benefit,"  which  was  then  advertised, 
"you  would  let  your  son  play  for  it." 

This  legitimate  Yankee  suspicion,  of  course, 
I  had  no  better  means  of  removing  than  by  let- 
ing  Sam  perform.  He  was  delighted  at  the 
aiovelty,  and  no  farther  instructed  than  by  a 
■usual  rehearsal;  he  made  his  first  appearance 
three  nights  afterward.  Whatever  he  may  be 
now,  he  was  a  very  little  boy,  even  for  his  age, 
in  1829;  and  he  certainly  eclipsed  anything  in 
the  way  of  juvenile  prodigies  which  I  had  ever 
seen — and  so  an  overflowing  house  said  too. 
But  from  long  experience  of  the  consequences 
in  after  life  of  forcing  precocious  talent,  I  never 
urged  him  to  learn  a  line.  For  some  two  or 
three  years  following  he  played  and  sung  such 
parts  and  comic  songs  as  he  thought  proper,  for 
his  own  amusement  and  my  emolument;  but  in 
the  course  of  that  time  he  never  studied  more 
than  six  characters — Crack,  Chip,  Matty  Mar- 
vellous, Bombastes — I  forget  the  other — and  one 
of  the  Dromios;  and  his  impersonation  of  me 
toot  me,  at  the  small  end  of  a  telescope.  He 
•chose,  when  it  was  time  to  choose,  the  stage  for 
his  profession,  and  is  now  an  admitted  favourite 
in  the  Edinburgh  Theatre  :  no  small  boast  at  his 
age,  for  there  the  drama  is  considered  one  of  the 


mental  endowments  of  that  refined  and  critical 
portion  of  Great  Britain.  And  his  uncle,  Will- 
iam Murray,  the  manager,  who,  when  a  mere 
boy,  was  intrusted  by  his  sister's  husband.  Hen- 
ry Siddons,  with  the  direction  of  the  National 
Theatre,  has  been  for  years  universally  admitted 
as  the  most  finished  disciplinarian  now  remain- 
ing to  uphold  the  good  old  school. 

I  was  most  heartily  rejoiced  when  this  en- 
gagement of  mine  terminated.  The  gentlemen 
composing  the  committee  of  arrangements  for 
the  proprietors,  all  with  separate  tastes  and  in- 
terests— some,  but  few,  influenced  by  the  prob- 
able loss  and  profit  to  themselves;  others  by  the 
he  or  she  actor  they  wished  to  patronise ;  some 
for  the  sake  of  seeing  a  play  acted  as  they  would 
like  to  see  it — would  beg  me  to  give  them  "  some 
good  casting."  One  of  these  actually  proposed, 
that  to  support  James  Wallack,  who  was  to  do 
Macbeth,  that  Hamblin  should  play  Banquo- 
all  well  enough — and  Booth  Macduff!  to  Wal- 
lack ! !  * 

"No!"  said  Booth,  "I'll  not  play  Macduff  to 
Wallack,  but  I'll  tell  you  what  I  will  do— I'll 
play  either  Fleance  or  Seyton  !" 

Hackett  took  the  Chatham  Theatre  the  fol- 
lowing spring,  and  I  was  engaged  as  his  princi- 
pal comedian.  For  so  long  a  time  having  been 
encumbered  with  the  toils  of  management,  lor 
myself  or  others,  a  plain,  well-paid  stock  en- 
gagement was  a  delicious  change.  But  it  did 
not  last  long;  for,  after  a  month  or  so,  the  busi- 
ness not  continuing  very  profitable,  some  reduc- 
tion of  wages,  or  some  mercantile  arrangement 
of  Hackett's,  which  I  will  not  explain,  being 
proposed,  I  backed  out.  My  experience  taught 
me,  that  when  a  manager  asks  you  to  take  a 
little  less  one  week,  he  will  expect  you  to  take 
nothing  the  next,  and  be  perfectly  satisfied.  So 
I  went  home  to  Philadelphia.  There  I  found  my 
own-made  theatre,  the  Walnut-street,  under  the 
management  of  Messrs.  Edmunds,  S.  Chapman, 
and  Green,  on  a  commonwealth  principle.  Ed- 
munds had  been  a  clerk  of  mine,  recommended 
to  me  by  Cooper  as  a  starving  countryman  of 
ours,  with  a  large  family,  great  honesty,  and  a 
good  handwriting.  Out  of  several  proposals 
which  he  made  me.  which  he  had  learned  in  my 
school,  I  accepted  a  sort  of  stock  engagement 
for  two  weeks,  to  receive  no  salary,  but  the 
whole  receipts  of  my  last  night,  in  the  shape  of  a 
benefit,  as  payment;  by  which  I  cleared  twelve 
hundred  dollars. 

John  Boyd,  of  Baltimore,  the  Christophei 
North  of  South-street,  and  the  laughter-loving 
and  mirth-provoking  Wildy,  who  cannot  possi- 
bly have  a  higher  caste  in  this  world's  estima- 
tion than  by  being  acknowledged  as  the  grand- 
father of  the  benevolent  order  of  Odd  Fellow- 
ship in  the  United  States,  had  built  an  amphi- 
theatre on  some  property  that  they  and  others 
owned  on  Front-street.  Wildy  and  Boyd  had 
both  made  me  an  offer  of  the  establishment, 
which  I  foolishly  declined  accepting,  and  Blanch- 
ard  became  the  lessee,  and  cleared,  the  first  sea- 
son, at  least  fifteen  thousand  dollars.  I  was  en- 
gaged there  for  five  consecutive  nights — the  sixth 
to  be  my  benefit — on  my  favourite  terms,  receiv- 
ing the  whole  receipts.  I  merely  played  six 
farce  parts,  and  got  nine  hundred  dollars  by  the 
job. 

This  establishment  was  burned  down  while 
occupied  by  Cooke's  company;  and  the  destruc- 
tion of  property  and  unoffending  animal  life  on 
that  occasion  is  too  dreadful  to  speak  of.    It  is 


PASSED    AMONG    THE    PLAYERS. 


85 


now  rebuilt  by  the  same  spirited  and  liberal  pro- 
prietors ;  and,  with  its  complete  and  substantial 
appointments,  either  lor  a  theatre  or  a  circus, 
is  by  far  the  most  perfect  building  for  such  pur- 
poses now  in  the  United  States. 

A  fat-faced  gentleman,   buttoned  up  to   the 
chin,  with  a  queer  hat  and  a  lisp,  called  upon 
me  at  Barnum's,  and  introduced  himsell  as  Mr. 
Flynn,  manager  of  the  theatre  at  Annapolis,  the 
capital  of  Maryland,  the  authority  of  Boz  to  the 
contrary  notwithstanding,  who  bestows  that  hon- 
our upon  Baltimore.     He  offered  me  half  the  re- 
ceipts of  his  theatre  there  per  night,  lor  three 
nights,  explaining  that  it  would  hold  one  hun- 
dred dollars.     I  accepted  the  proposal  on  hav- 
ing good  security  for  the  payment,  which,  in  a 
very  business-like  manner,  he  immediately  gave. 
I  was   to  commence    the    engagement   on   the 
Monday  following;    and  at  dark  on   Saturday 
night  I  arrived  at  that  very  pretty  little  oklfash- 
ioned  city.     I  must  stop  one  instant  here  to  say 
that  the  graveyard,  with  a  few  innocent  sheep 
nibbling  the  short  grass,  and  giving  intensity  to 
the  repose  of  the  romantic  spot,  would  almost 
tempt    anybody  to    be    buried   "  quick"   there. 
There  is  one  grave  where  an  Irish  blacksmith 
is  de-composed,  with  the  iron  anvil  on  which  he 
worked  for  years  for  a  tombstone:  and  a  sim- 
ple tablet  "  To  the  memory  of  a  good  woman;" 
only  think  of  having  "  dust  to  dust"  shovelled  on 
you  just  there  !  . 

The  hotel  I  found  entirely  deserted,  with  the 
exception  of  a  negro,  who  was  asleep  outside  the 
latticed  portion  of  the  bar-room.  I  had  not  been 
there  an  instant  when  I  heard  the  chorus  of  the 
old  Lincolnshire  ditty  I  had  introduced  to  this 
country  : 

"  Oh  '.  'tis  my  delight  of  a  shiny  night, 
In  the  season  of  the  year.    Now,  then  !" 


CHAPTER  XII. 


and  in  walked  Booth— for  'twas  he,  followed  by 
a  clever  young  printer,  by  the  name  of  Augus- 
tus Richardson,  who  afterward  married  Sam 
Chapman's  widow,  and  a  gentleman  called 
Franciscus,  whom  I  saw  the  other  day  at  New- 
Orleans,  and  who  didn't  sow  his  wild  oats  with 
such  good  tasta. 

"Why,  hallo!"  said  Booth,  "what  are  you 
doing  here,  Cowein" 

I,  like  a  true  Englishman,  answered  by  asking 
the  same  question. 

"  Why,"  said  Booth,  "  I  am  engaged  for  three 
nights  and  a  benefit  by  Flynn ;  I  open  here  on 
Monday."  . 

"  So  do  I,"  said  I,  "  and  have  the  same  nights.' 
"  I  am  to  get  half  the  receipts,"  said  he. 
"  So  am  I,"  said  I. 

"  But  I  have  it  all  signed  and  sealed,  and 
Gwynn  is  security  for  the  payment,"  said  he. 
"  Exactly  the  same  case  with  me,"  said  I. 
The  fact  is,  Flynn  had  engaged  us  both  on 
precisely  the  same  terms,  and  as  he  explained  to 
me  not  having  the  slightest  reliance  on  Booth's 
promise  to  be  there,  he  had  engaged  me  to  save 
him  from  the  anger  of  the  audience  if  Booth 
should  disappoint  them ;  and  was  good-humour- 
edly  prepared  to  give  us  oil  between  us.  And  it 
■was  with  some  difficulty— for,  where  money  is 
concerned,  Booth  has  sometimes  a  queer  method 
in  his  madness— that  he  was  induced  to  agree  to 
take  one  third  a  piece  all  round. 

But  this  chapter  is  getting  to  be  something  too 
much  of  this,  and  I  have  a  journey  before  me  to 
"  Tlie  Far  West." 


"  In  no  country,  and  in  no  stage  of  society,  his  the  drama 
ever  existed  (to  my  knowledge)  in  a  ruder  shite  than  that 
in  which  this  company  presented  it."—  The  Doctor. 

I  am  not  surprised  that  savages,  when  left  to 
their  own  discretion  to  choose  a  God,  should  so 
frequently  select  the  sun  as  the  object  of  their 
adoration  ;  for,  in  his  absence,  even  the  Allegha- 
ny Mountains  may  be  crossed,  and  Nature  re- 
ceive no  homage  for  her  wonders. 

It  was  one  o'clock  in  'he  morning,  at  the  lat- 
ter end  of  November,  that  my  dear  boy  Sam  and 
myself  left  Baltimore  in  a  stage-coach  and  a 
snow-storm;  and  in  three  days  and  two  nights, 
through  mud  and  mire,  we  arrived,  as  if  by  mir- 
acle, at  Wheeling,  Virginia,  where  we  fortu- 
nately found  a  little  steamboat,  called  the  Poto- 
mac,'ready  to  start  for  Cincinnati.     The  Ohio 
River  is  notorious  for  being  twelve  hundred  miles 
long,  but  as  nothing  is  said  about  its  width,  to- 
my  imagination  it  proved  sadly  out  of  proportion ; 
it  happened  to  be  a  low  stage  of  water,  which  then 
I  knew  nothing  about;  and  I  was  disappoint- 
ed in  not  finding  it  wider  than  the  Delaware,  and 
not  half  so  picturesque.     The  French  christen- 
ed it  La  Belle  Riviere,  but  a  Frenchman's  opin- 
ion should  never  be  taken  where  the  beauties  oi 
Nature  are  concerned,  unless  they  are  fit  to  be 
cooked.    John  Randolph  went  to  the  other  ex- 
treme, but  was  nearer  the  truth,  when  he  descri- 
bed it  as  a  paltry,  nonsensical  stream,  dried  up 
one  half  of  the  year,  and  frozen  up  the  other. 
Winter  had  just  taken  Autumn  in  his  rude  em- 
brace, and  the  country  on  either  side  looked  wild, 
and  dreary,  though  divested  of  romance. 

"  There  stood  the  faded  trees  in  grief, 
As  various  as  their  clouded  leaf; 
With  all  the  hues  of  sunset  skies 
Were  stamp'd  the  maple's  mourning  dies  ; 
In  meeker  sorrow  in  the  vale, 
The  gentle  ash  was  drooping  pale  ; 
Brown-sear'd,  the  walnut  rear'd  its  head, 
The  oak  display'd  a  lifeless  red, 
And  grouping  bass  and  white-wood  hoar 
Sadly  their  yellow  honours  bore." 


Habitations  were  "few  and  far  between,"  and 
then  only  a  miserable  log  hut  in  the  midst  of  "a 
clearing"  of,  perhaps,  a  dozen  acres;  the  trunks 
of  the  fine  old  trees  still  standing,  though  burned 
to  the  core;  and  this  evidence  of  their  violent 
death  adding  artificial  desolation  to  the  natural- 
ly dreary  landscape.  At  a  wood-pile  you  would 
sometimes  see  a  group  of  dirty,  "  loose,  unatti- 
red"  women  and  children, 

"  With  a  sad,  leaden,  downward  cast," 

destroying  at  a  glance  all  your  visions  of  primi- 
tive simplicity  or  rural  felicity.  These  "  early 
settlers  "  by  a  strange  chain  of  thought,  put  me 
in  mind  of  Paradise  Lost  and  "Adam's  first- 
green  breeches ;"  and  I  could  not  help  but  agree 
with  Butler,  that 

"The  whole  world,  without  art  and  dress, 

Would  be  but  one  great  wilderness, 

And  mankind  but  a  savage  herd, 

For  all  that  Nature  has  conferr'd  ; 

She  does  but  rough-hew  and  design, 

Leaves  art  to  polish  and  refine." 

Cincinnati  in  1829  was  a  very  different  place 
from  what  it  is  now,  but  even  then  it  wore  a 
most  imposing  appearance  :  thanks  to  the  clear- 
headed, adventurous  Yankees,  who,  axe  in  hand, 
cut  through  the  pathless  forests,  undismayed  by 
toil  and  defying  danger,  until  they  found  a  spot, 
rowh-licwn  and  designed  by  Nature  as  the  site  for 
future  ages  to  enthrone  the  pride  of  the  Ohio 
Valley,  the  "  dueen  City  of  the  West."    We  put 


86 


THIRTY   YEARS 


up  at  the  hotel  near  the  landing,  kept  by  Captain 
Cromwell,  and  in  his  little  way  quite  as  despotic 
as  his  namesake,  the  poor  apology  for  a  king ; 
lor  after  dinner — an  operation  which  was  per- 
formed by  his  boarders  in  three  minutes  at  far- 
thest— myself  and  two  acquaintances  I  had  form- 
ed on  the  road  drew  towards  the  fire,  and  com- 
menced smoking  our  cigars. 

"You  can't  smoke  here,"  said  Captain  Crom- 
well. And  we  instantly  pleaded  ignorance  of 
his  rules,  though  they  might  be  thought  a  little 
fastidious  after  our  scramble  for  dinner,  and 
threw  our  cigars  in  the  fire. 

"And  you  can't  sit  here,"  said  Captain  Crom- 
well. "  If  you  want  to  sit,  you  must  sit  in  the 
bar;  and  if  you  want  to  smoke,  you  can  smoke 
in  the  bar." 

Slapping  his  hand  on  the  table,  after  the  man- 
ner of  his  ancestor  dismissing  the  Long  Parlia- 
ment ;  and  into  the  bar  we  went,  where  a  play- 
bill on  the  wall  announced  that  the  "  School  for 
Scandal"  was  to  be  performed  that  evening  for 
"the  benefit  of  Mr.  Anderson."  I  was  making 
some  inquiries  of  the  barkeeper  about  the  thea- 
tre, when  a  man  about  my  own  age  and  size, 
very  shabby,  very  dirty,  and  very  deaf,  introdu- 
ced himself  as  Alexander  Drake,  the  manager, 
curled  his  right  hand  round  his  ear,  and,  in  a 
courteous  whisper,  invited  me  to  "take  some- 
thing." He  was  a  kind,  familiar,  light-hearted 
creature,  told  me,  with  apparent  glee,  that  he 
was  over  head  and  ears  in  debt  to  the  company 
and  everybody  else  ;  that  that  night  he  had  giv- 
en the  use  of  the  theatre,  and  the  performers  had 
tendered  their  services,  to  an  old  actor  who  ex- 
pected a  "meeting  of  his  creditors;"  but  that  he 
had  been  obliged  to  close  the  theatre  for  the  sim- 
ple reason  that  it  wasn't  fashionable !  What  an 
abominable  affliction  have  these  ephemeral  four 
syllables  proved  to  the  young  and  otherwise  un- 
lettered country  of  which  I  am  now  writing ! 
Could  the  wrinkled  outlaws  of  crippled  monar- 
chies find  no  other  chain  to  goad  the  neck  and 
bow  the  head  of  independence, 

"  Wandering  mid  woods  and  forests  wild," 

than  the  introduction  of  fashionable  atrocities  to 
make  the  thoughtless  laugh,  the  thinking  grieve? 
The  manager  gave  me  an  invitation  to  wit- 
ness the  performance ;  and  after  a  pleasant  chat — 
for  he  was  a  delightful  companion — and  "  taking 
something"  till  the  time  for  commencing,  excu- 
sed himself  for  being  obliged  to  leave,  in  conse- 
quence of  having  to  "study  Charles  Surface, 
who  went  on  in  the  third  act."  If  he  had  never 
played  the  part  before,  he  had  an  extraordinary 
"swallow;"  for  he  was  perfect,  and  performed  it 
much  better  than  I  have  often  seen  it  done  by 
those  who  consider  such  characters  their  line  of 
business ;  and  he  was  a  low  comedian  and  an  ex- 
cellent one,  which  may  probably  account  for  the 
unfitness  of  his  dress :  he  wore  white  trousers  of 
that  peculiar  cut  you  sometimes  see  frisk  round 
the  stage  in  what  is  called  a  sailor's  hornpipe, 
and,  being  very  short,  exposed  a  pair  of  boots  on 
which  Day  and  Martin  had  never  deigned  to 
shine  ;  no  gloves,  a  round  hat,  and  the  same  blue 
coat  and  brass  buttons  I  had  already  been  intro- 
duced to,  buttoned  up  to  the  top.  His  wife  was 
the  Lady  Teazle ;  a  very  fine  looking  woman, 
and  plenty  of  her.  I  was  not  then  accustomed 
to  the  peculiar  twang  in  the  pronunciation  of  the 
west  end  of  the  United  States,  which,  in  conse- 
quence, sounded  uncouth  and  unlady-Teazle-like 
to  me;  for  though  Sir  Peter  particularly  boasts 


that  he  has  chosen  a  wife  "bred  altogether  in  the 
country,"  he  didn't  mean,  I  suppose,  the  West- 
ern country;  but,  at  any  rate,  she  got  great  ap- 
plause; everybody  seemed  very  much  pleased 
with  her,  and  she  seemed  very  much  pleased 
with  herself.  Mrs.  Drake  has  been  very  suc- 
cessful as  a  star  since  the  time  I  speak  of;  she 
is  one  out  of  six  or  seven  ladies  who  have  by 
turns  been  called  "the  Mrs.  Siddons  of  America;"- 
but  what  lor,  for  the  life  of  me  I  never  could  find 
out ;  but  as  the  baptizers,  in  all  probability,  nev- 
er saw  the  Mrs.  Siddons,  they  should  stand  ex- 
cused for  taking  her  name  in  vain.  Baron  Hack- 
ett's  sister-in-law,  Mrs.  Sharpe,  was  so  christen- 
ed; but  that  must  have  been  an  oversight;  for 
she  is  an  English  lady,  the  daughter  of  Old  Le 
Sugg,  well  known  thirty  years  ago  as  an  eccen- 
tric itinerant,  and  said  to  have  been  the  precept- 
or of  Matthews  in  the  art  and  mystery  of  imita- 
ting Punch  and  Judy. 

Raymond  was  the  Joseph,  a  man  nearly  as 
big  as  "  Big  Scott,"  and  would  not  now  be  men- 
tioned here,  if  he  had  not  drowned  himself  be- 
cause some  one  said  Parsons  (another  big  one) 
was  a  better  actor!     Foolish  fellow, 

"  How  poor  are  they  who  have  not  patience  !" 

if  he  had  waited  a  little  longer  he  would  have 
had  the  Western  country  heavy  business  all  to 
himself;  for,  when  theatricals  began  to  decline 
in  that  hemisphere,  Parsons  turned  Methodist, 
and  joined  the  church.  But  whether  he  was 
disappointed  in  the  profits  attending  his  new 
profession,  or  that  the  groans  his  performance 
elicited  were  not  understood  at  first  to  mean 
approval,  and' he  fancied  he  had  made  a  failure, 
1  know  not,  but  the  offer  of  a  star  engagement 
induced  him  to  return  to  the  stage.  And  nad  he 
played  the  hypocrite,  and  got  it  understood  that 
he  was  still  a  follower  of  the  church,  though, 
from  necessity,  an  actor,  he  might  have  proved 
an  attraction  ;  but  he  was  honest  for  once,  and 
took  the  other  extreme,  selected  Doctor  Cant- 
well  for  one  of  his  characters,  and  insulted  com- 
mon sense  by  his  attempting  to  throw  odium  on 
the  professors  of  religion ;  and  to  the  credit  of 
the  supporters  of  the  drama  be  it  said,  he  play- 
ed to  empty  benches.  He  is  now,  I  understand, 
regularly  engaged  as  a  saint,  and  playing  little 
business  to  Mafht. 

It  must  not  be  understood  that  I  wish  to  con- 
vey an  idea  that  an  actor  cannot  be  a  religious 
man,  and  even  a  capable  and  devout  teacher  of 
Christianity ;  but  then  his  previous  Hie  should  be 
strongly  marked  (like  poor  Conway's)  with  the 
attributes  of  piety,  kindness  of  heart,  and  charity 
to  all  men;  and  Parsons,  I'm  afraid,  if  weighed 
in  such  a  scale,  like  many  other  parsons,  would 
be  "  found  wanting." 

At  the  end  of  the  play,  a  tall,  scrambling-look- 
ing  man  with  a  sepulchral  falsetto  voice,  sung 
"  Giles  Scroggin's  Ghost,"  and  I  recognised  him 
at  once  as  an  old  acquaintance.  While  I  was 
manager  of  the  circus  I  called  in  one  evening  at 
the  Park  during  the  performance  of  "  Bombas- 
tes  Furioso,"  and  was  greatly  amused  at  the 
eccentricities  of  one  of  the  supernumeraries,  and 
the  more  so,  as  I  could  plainly  see  it  annoyed 
Hilson  and  Barnes.  Simpson  was  with  me, 
and  we  had  a  hearty  laugh  at  the  expense  of  the 
comedians,  for  they  were  all  in  the  bill,  and  this 
man,  vithovt  a  name,  was  the  only  person  the 
audience  appeared  to  notice ;  and  the  next  day 
Simpson  told  me  that  Hilson,  Barnes,  and  Pla- 
cide  had  made  a  formal  complaint  against  this 


PASSED   AMONG   THE    PLAYERS. 


87 


extemporaneous  jester,  and  insisted  on  his  not 
being  again  employed.  His  name,  I  found,  was 
Rice,  and  not  long  after  he 

"  Turn'd  about,  and  wheel'd  about, 
And  jump'd  Jim  Crow," 

to  his  own  profit  and  the  wonder  and  delight  of 
all  admirers  of  intellectual  agility.  The  theatre 
was  a  small  brick  building,  well  designed,  but 
wretchedly  dark  and  disgustingly  dirty,  and, 
with  the  exception  of  the  beneficiary  and  the  per- 
sons I  have  named,  the  performance  was  quite 
in  keeping.  I  don't  know  if  it  was  considered  a 
fashioiiabl-c  house.  There  were  about  a  hun- 
dred persons  present,  and  I  observed  a  majority 
of  the  ladies  wore  a  little  strip  of  silver  cord  or 
lace  round  their  heads,  an  innocent  remnant  of 
national  finery,  I  presume,  and  very  generally 
worn  by  the  Swiss  and  German  peasants,  who 
then  constituted  a  large  portion  of  the  popula- 
tion. 

Old  Drake  had  been  a  strolling  manager  in 
the  West  of  England,  and  some  years  before 
had  brought  to  this  country  a  large  family  of 
children,  all  educated  to  sing,  dance,  fight  com- 
bats, paint  scenes,  play  the  fiddle,  and  everything 
else ;  and  by  wandering  through  the  then  wilder- 
ness, and  giving  entertainments  at  the  numer- 
ous small  towns  which  were  daily  ejecting  the 
forest,  he  had  made  money  by  their  combined 
exertions  in  that  primitive  dramatic  way.  But 
this  portion  of  the  Union  had  in  a  very  few 
years  outgrown  even  his  boys  and  girls,  and  the 
march  of  improvement  had  marched  rather  be- 
yond the  point  of  his  experience. 

A  few  farms  within  a  mile  or  two  of  each 
other  had  become,  as  if  by  magic,  flourishing 
villages,  then  large  towns  and  now  magnifi- 
cent cities,  the  stumps  of  the  firmly-rooted 
line  old  oaks  still  disputing  inch  by  inch  the 
paving  of  the  well-built  streets.  A  full-grown, 
enlightened  population,  kept  pouring  in  from 
the  older  States,  accompanied  by  the  million 
skilful  artisans  who  had  been  starving  midst 
the  crowd  of  equal  talent  in  their  native  coun- 
tries, and  whom  Great  Britain  and  the  Conti- 
nent of  Europe  could  so  gladly  spare. 

New  towns  must  have  new  theatres,  some- 
times even  before  they  have  new  churches,  and 
.Frankfort,  Lexington,  Louisville,  and  Cincin- 
nati had  been  so  adorned  for  several  years, 
and  which  now  constituted  the  present  circuit. 
Alexander  Drake  had  been  intrusted  by  his 
father  with  this  branch  of  the  concern,  and  had 
got  in  debt  and  got  on  the  limits,  and  could  not 
move  out  of  the  state  till  relieved  by  the  insolv- 
ent law;  and  Old  Drake  was  at  Frankfort, 
.Kentucky,  waiting  for  this  company,  to  open  the 
theatre  there,  and  they  could  not  move  for  want 
of  funds. 

Poor  Aleck  so  feelingly  described  his  painful 
situation,  that  though  there  was  very  little  prob- 
ability that  I  should  make  money  under  the  ex- 
isting circumstances,  with  the  remote  hope  of 
giving  him  some  assistance,  I  agreed  to  play  a 
Jew  nights,  to  share  with  him  after  one  hundred 
and  thirty  dollars,  a  sum  very  unlikely  to  be 
ever  received,  but  to  have  half  the  amount  of 
two  houses  for  the  services  of  myself  and  son, 
•which,  in  all  probability,  would  cover  my  ex- 
penses, and  give  me  time  to  form  a  better  judg- 
ment of  this  new  country.  But,  strange  to  say, 
our  business  averaged  over  two  hundred  dollars, 
.and  both  the  benefits  were  crowded  to  overflow- 
ing. 


There  is  no  class  of  persons  in  the  world  who 
so  ostentatiously  exhibit  their  estate  as  the  play- 
ers. I  speak  of  the  majority.  See  them  in  pros- 
perity with 

"Rings,  and  things,  and  fine  array:" 

their  coat  is  always  made  in  the  extreme  of  the 
most  ridiculous  fashion  then  in  vogue,  and,  that 
it  may  be  useful  on  the  stage,  generally  of  a 
lighter  blue,  or  green,  or  brown,  than  is  usually 
worn;  pantaloons  of  some  peculiar  colour — blot- 
ting-paper is  a  favourite  tint — and  a  hat,  either 
very  little,  very  big,  or  very  something,  very  un- 
like what  would  be  seen  on  any  head  but  an  ac- 
tor's; but  when  either  garment  is  unseamed  and 
seated,  and  the  brim  of  the  hat  bowed  ofT,  every 
rent  speaks  with  a  "dumb  mouth"  of  abject  beg- 
gary, when  a  homely  garment,  though  thread- 
bare, if  it  did  not  conceal  the  poverty,  would  still 
shield  the  wearer  from  ridicule  and  contempt. 
The  ladies,  bless  them,  always  dress  beautifully 
when  they  can  ;  but  'tis  melancholy  to  meet  them 
when  they  cannot,  with  lace  veils  and  flannel 
petticoats,  artificial  flowers  and  feathers,  with 
worsted  stockings  and  muddy  shoes.  I  shall 
neither  mention  names  nor  particularly  describe 
the  party  I  saw  the  first  morning  I  went  to  re- 
hearsal huddled  round  the  fire,  in  what  was  call- 
ed the  green-room.  In  one  corner,  on  the  floor, 
was  a  pallet-bed  and  some  stage  properties,  evi- 
dently used  to  make  shift  to  cook  with,  such  as 
tin  cups  and  dishes,  a  brass  breastplate,  and  an 
iron  helmet  half  full  of  boiled  potatoes,  which,  I 
was  informed,  was  the  domestic  paraphernalia 
of  the  housekeeper  and  ladies'-dresser.  She  was 
a  sort  of  half  Indian,  half  Meg-Merrilies-iooking 
creature,  very  busily  employed  in  roasting  cof- 
fee on  a  sheet  of  thunder,  and  stirring  it  round 
with  one  of  Macbeth's  daggers,  for  "on  the 
blade  and  dudgeon,  gouts"  of  rose-pink  still  re- 
mained. 

I  soon  got  acquainted  with  the  ladies  and 
gentlemen;  Rice  I  found  a  very  unassuming, 
modest  young  man,  little  dreaming  then  that  he 
was  destined  to  astonish  the  Duchess  of  St.  Al- 
ban's,  or  anybody  else;  he  had  a  queer  hat,  very 
much  pointed  down  before  and  behind,  and  very 
much  cocked  on  one  side.  I  perched  myself  on 
a  throne-chair,  by  the  side  of  Mrs.  Drake,  who 
was  seated  next  the  fire,  on  a  bass  drum.  I 
found  her  a  most  joyous,  affable  creature,  full 
of  conundrums  and  good  nature ;  she  made  some 
capital  jokes  about  her  peculiar  position  ;  mar- 
tial music  —  sounds  by  distance  made  more 
sweet;  and  an  excellent  rhyme  to  drum,  which 
I  arn  very  sorry  I  have  forgotten. 

When  a  manager  ceases  to  pay,  he  soon  ceas- 
es to  have  any  authority ;  the  rehearsals,  there- 
fore, did  not  deserve  the  name ;  the  distribution 
of  the  characters  the  performers  settled  among 
themselves,  and  said  as  much  of  them  as  suited 
their  convenience;  but  they  were  all  very  civil, 
and  apparently  anxious  to  attend  to  my  interests, 
and  the  audience  was  esily  pleased.  Sam  made 
a  prodigious  hit ;  from  ten  to  twenty  dollars,  and 
sometimes  much  more,  would  be  thrown  on  the 
stage  during  his  comic  singing  :  a  tribute  of  ad- 
miration not  at  all  uncommon  in  those  days  in 
the  South  and  West.  At  Louisville,  one  night, 
seven  half-eagles  were  sprinkled  amid  the  show- 
er of  silver  which  always  accompanied  his  Af- 
rican Melodies.  Loose  change  is  not  so  plenti- 
ful in  these  days. 


88 


THIRTY   YEARS 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

"  The  aspiring  youth  that  fired  the  Ephesiarj  dome 
Outlives  in  fame  the  pious  fool  that  raised  it." 

Richard  the  Third. 

The  profits  arising  from  our  engagement  had 
been  distributed  among  the  performers,  and  they 
had  set  off  for  Kentucky ;  and  Drake  had  had 
an  excellent  benefit,  for  which  we  had  played 
gratuitously. 

It  was  now  suggested  by  some  of  the  Jirst  peo- 
ple, that  if  Mrs.  Drake  could  obtain  our  services, 
and  give  an  entertainment  in  any  place  but  the 
theatre,  she  might  be  certain  that  all  the  fashion- 
ables, who  wished  particularly  to  see  my  son, 
would  attend,  and  so  give  their  aid  towards  re- 
lieving the  manager  of  part  of  the  encumbrances 
their  want  of  patronage  had  occasioned.  I  con- 
sented to  sing  a  song,  and  Sam  had  no  objection 
to  singing  a  dozen,  and  a  Grand  Olio  was  con- 
cocted. Mr.  and  Mrs.  Drake  were  to  act  Sir 
Peter  and  Lady  Teazle's,  and  Sir  Adam  and 
Lady  Constant's  detached  scenes ;  Aleck  to  sing 
Kitty  Clover,  Gregory  Redtail,  Love  and  Sau- 
sages, and  half  a  hundred  more  fashionable  com- 
ic songs;  and  Mrs.  Drake  to  deliver  "O'Con- 
ner's  Child,"  the  "  Scolding  Wife,"  and  half  a 
hundred  more  fashionable  recitations.  I  was  to 
sing  "  Chit  Chat  for  the  Ladies,"  in  the  first  part 
of  the  entertainment,  ana  Sam  to  give  his  "Ne- 
gro Melodies"  with  a  white  face,  in  the  second  ; 
and  a  violin  and  violoncello  were  to  constitute 
the  orchestra.  Tosso  was  the  leader,  a  gifted 
musician,  who  played  familiar  airs  divinely ; 
but,  being  blind,  his  accompaniments  to  strange 
melodies  had  to  run  after  the  voice  in  a  pretty 
frolicking  manner,  more  for  his  own  amusement 
than  any  assistance  he  gave  to  the  singer. 

Now  this  hotch-potch  was  supposed  to  be 
more  attractive  for  a.  fashionable  audience  than 
the  same  actors  would  be  in  a  wholesome  play 
and  farce,  with  the  assistance  of  the  company,  and 
the  advantages  of  scenery  and  dress.  Pshaw ! 
After  due  preparation,  a  night  was  chosen  by 
Mr.  Drake's  principal  patroness,  when  it  was 
positively  ascertained  there  would  not  be  a  tea- 
party  of  any  consequence  in  the  whole  city,  and 
the  place  of  exhibition  Mrs.  Trollope's  Bazar. 

This  is  a  very  singular  affair:  built  of  brick- 
in  a  by-street  turning  out  of  Broadway,  so  that, 
fortunately,  its  nonsensical  appearance  don't  ac- 
tually interfere  with  the  good  taste  displayed  in 
the  simply  elegant  buildings  just  round  the  cor- 
ner. 

For  what  the  original  inventor  intended  this 
structure,  Heaven  only  knows;  in  my  time  it 
has  undergone  a  dozen  alterations,  at  least,  to 
endeavour  to  make  it  fit  for  something;  but  its 
first  plan  was  so  curiously  contrived,  that  every 
effort  Yankee  ingenuity  could  suggest  to  make 
it  useful  has  successively  failed.  It  no  doubt 
cost  a  vast  sum  of  money  to  erect.  These  fan- 
cy buildings,  which  highly-imaginative  ladies 
sometimes  conceive,  however  clearly  described, 
are  very  incomprehensible  to  the  artists  in  bricks 
and  mortar  taught  only  to  work  by  rule,  even 
though  the  instructions  may  be  assisted  with 
prints  in  perspective  to  copy  "  something  like  that 
little  bit"  of  the  exterior  of  the  Harem,  or  "  this 
little  bit"  of  the  Pavilion  at  Brighton.  But  Mrs. 
Trollope's  zeal  to  improve  the  taste  of  this  young 
common-sense  population,  whom  she  intended, 
and  fully  expected,  would  ultimately  look  up  to 
her  with  awe  and  admiration,  nerved  her  with 
patience  to  surmount  all  the  tortures  of  pulling 
down  and  building  up,  till  she  at  length  succeed- 


ed in  getting  a  roof  with  a  tin-basin-shaped: 
dome,  and  a  large  gilt  crescent  on  the  top,  of  the 
oddest-looking  building  that  ever  was  invented. 
The  interior,  no  doubt,  was  an  after  considera- 
tion. Two  half-circular  stairways  met  at  the 
top  of  six  or  seven  steps,  which  led  to  an  en- 
trance wide  enough  for  two  persons  to  pass  in 
conveniently  at  the  same  time,  into  a  large  din- 
gy-looking room  :  this  was  the  Bazar.  I  am 
speaking  of  it  as  I  saw  it  for  the  first  time. 
There  was  a  sort  of  long  counter  on  either  side, 
and  some  empty  shelves  here  and  there  against 
the  walls.  On  the  left  hand,  near  the  door,  an 
elderly  lady  in  spectacles  was  sitting  behind  a 
little  lot  of  dry  goods,  knitting  either  suspenders 
or  garters ;  and  at  the  farther  end  of  the  room 
a  very  melancholy-looking  man  was  employed 
in  reading,  behind  his  share  of  the  counter,  I  sup- 
pose. He  put  his  book  down  as  we  advanced 
and  stood  up,  as  much  as  to  say.  "  What  do  you 
want  to  buy  V  I  glanced  at  his  stock  in  trade. 
There  were  a  few  pieces,  or,  rather,  remnants  of 
calico  and  Kentucky  jean,  the  ends  unrolled  and 
fastened  to  the  ceiling,  some  ribands  in  the  usu- 
al pasteboard  box,  and  the  cover  upside  down 
by  the  side  of  it,  filled  with  papers  of  pins,  and 
needles,  and  cotton  balls;  whether  he  had  just 
started  in  business,  or  was  about  closing  the  con- 
cern, it  was  impossible  to  guess,  so  I  bought  a 
paper  of  pins  and  asked  the  question. 

"  I  have  only  been  here  a  week,  sir,"  said  he, 
dolefully,  "and,  with  the  exception  of  the  socks 
I  sold  that  young  gentleman  this  morning,  you 
are  the  only  one  as  'as  bought  anything  since  I 
opened."  Sam  had  been  to  market,  in  conse- 
quence of  the  absence  of  the  washerwoman, 
and  had  found  out  "  this  queer-looking  place," 
as  he  justly  called  it. 

"  Then  you  don't  find  it  answer  7"  said  I. 

"  Oh  dear,  no,  sir — very  far  from  it,"  he  re- 
plied: "nothing  answers  that's  rational  in  this 
outlandish  country,  as  Mrs.  Trollope  says;  I 
wish,  with  all  my  art,  I'd  never  seen  it." 

"  You  are  an  Englishman,  are  you  not  1" 
said  I. 

"  Yes,  sir,  eaven  be  praised  ;  and  you  is  too," 
he  continued,  with  a  very  knowing  look.  "  I  re- 
member you  at  the  Adelphi ;  I  took  the  gallery 
tickets  there." 

"  Pray,  had  I  the  pleasure  of  your  acquaint- 
ance in  London  V  I  inquired,  respectfully. 

"  Oh  no,  sir,  but  I  knowed  you  was  the  same 
as  I  knowed  there  as  soon  as  I  seen  the  play- 
bill. But  I  was  very  intimate  with  John  Reeve," 
he  continued,  with  much  importance.  "  It  was 
him  as  recommended  me  to  Rodwell ;  he  was 
clerk  in  the  same  ouse  as  I  was  in  afore  he  turn- 
ed a  hactor — Mr.  ,  the  ozheer  in  Cheap- 
side  :  I  used  to  weave  stockins  in  the  front  cel- 
lar at  the  hairy  winder." 

"  I  understand,"  said  I :  "a  sort  of  living 
sign." 

"  Why,"  he  replied,  with  a  look  as  if  he  didn't 
approve  of  my  interpretation,  "it's  rather  con- 
finin',  to  be  sure;  but  one  gets  good  wages,  and 
with  what  I  earned  by  keeping  door  at  night,  it's 
a  plaguy  sight  better  than  setting  all  day  in 
this  rum  concern,  and  getting  nothing  but  your 
wickles." 

"  And  is  that  all  you  get  for  your  services  V 
I  asked. 

"  Why,  you  see,"  said  he,  in  a  confidential 
under-tone  of  voice,  "  the  old  woman  thinks  this 
ere  will  be  a  great  go  one  of  these  days ;  but  she 
can't  get  the  Yankees  to  believe  in  it,  and  they 


PASSED    AMONG    THE    PLAYERS. 


89' 


won't  rent  the  stands ;  so  any  of  her  own  coun- 
try as  apply,  she  furnishes  'em  with  a  few  things, 
and  gives  'em  half  the  profits  and  a  cold  cut,  and 
a  cup  o'  tea,  to  try  and  get  the  place  into  notice. 
But  1  think  it's  all  in  my  eye,"  he  continued,  with 
a  cunning  wink  ;  "  she'll  never  be  able  to  melerate 
the  manners  of  the  Mericans,  as  she  calls  it : 
d'ye  sec  them  'ere  spitboxes  1"  pointing  to  a  row 
filled  with  clean  sawdust,  on  the  outside  of  the 
counter.  "  Well,  she  can't  begin  to  persuade 
'em  to  make  use  on  'em;  they  will  squirt  there 
backer  on  one  side,  which  teazes  the  old  woman 
half  to  death." 

It  was  in  a  room  of  similar  dimensions  to  this 
that  the  aristocratic  exhibition  took  place.  At 
the  extreme  end  there  was  a  raised  platform; 
this  was  permanent,  and  the  apartment  intended 
by  the  founder  of  the  building  as  the  forum,  in 
which  the  mischievous  outpourings  of  any  wan- 
dering fanatic,  whose  solemn  yet  impotent  ef- 
forts to  overthrow  the  institutions  and  annihilate 
the  creeds  of  the  older  country  might  here,  on 
the  fresh  bosom  of  this  newly-planted  world,  in- 
graft the  poison  of  their  mildewed  minds,  dis- 
guised in  all  the  demoniacal  decorations  of  our 
language, 

"  And  sweet  religion  make 
A  rhapsody  of  words." 

A  green  baize  curtain  was  fastened  from  the 
ceiling  across  the  middle  of  the  platform,  to  form 
the  stage  and  behind  tlie  scenes,  where  we  were 
huddled  together,  with  two  chairs  between  us,  be- 
fore the  audience  arrived;  there  being  only  one 
door  to  get  in  or  out  at,  this  was  our  only  re- 
source, or  to  parade  through  the  fashionables 
when  time  to  commence.  When  they  did  come 
they  came  all  together,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Trollope, 
with  their  family,  leading  the  way,  and  amount- 
ing to  about  thirty  in  all,  laughing  and  talking 
very  happily,  accompanied  by  Tosso  and  the 
bass,  with  some  plaintive  Irish  melodies.  Drake 
interrupted  this  only  expression  of  hilarity  du- 
ring the  time  I  was  sitting  perdue  behind  the  baize 
by  ringing  a  little  bell,  and  a  minute  passed  in 
shuffling  of  feet  and  legs  of  chairs — all  was  breath- 
less silence.  Another  tingle-dingle,  and  Mrs. 
Drake  appeared,  her  majestic  form  and  white 
satin  train,  which  Drake  had  spread  out  and  pla- 
ced on  the  floor  at  its  full  extent,  as  she  gracefully 
glided  through  a  slit  in  the  baize,  taking  posses- 
sion entirely  of  the  stage.  Three  queen-like 
courtesies  to  the  right,  the  left,  and  centre,  which 
was  entirely  vacant,  with  the  exception  of  the 
doorkeeper,  who  stood  a  little  in  advance  of  his 
station  cutting  and  shuffling  the  few  tickets  he 
had  received  in  his  hands,  and  with  which  he 
gave  a  wh-r-r-rup !  which  formed  the  only  re- 
sponse to  the  courtesies.  The  fact  is,  it  was  not 
fashionable  to  take  notice  of  anything;  but  a 
very  loud  sneeze,  which  a  young  lady  favoured 
me  with  during  the  third  verse  of  my  song,  caus- 
ed a  whispering  titter;  and  the  one  that  usually 
follows,  being  interfered  with  by  a  friend  or 
pocket-handkerchief,  went  the  wrong  way,  and 
the  very  odd  kind  of  noise  it  assumed  caused  a 
general  laugh,  during  which  I  finished  my  song, 
and  made  my  escape  through  the  slit. 

The  first  part  over,  Mrs.  Trollope  invited  me 
to  the  refreshment-room.  Most  of  the  gentlemen 
I  had  been  acquainted  with  before,  and  many  of 
the  ladies  I  had  had  the  pleasure  of  an  introduc- 
tion to,  and  among  them  the  beautiful,  blushing 
young  creature,  who  made  some  innocent  apolo- 
gies "for  the  cold  in  her  head.  Mrs.  Trollope 
gave  fifty  reasons  why  at  least  fifty  more  of  her 


friends,  and  the  first  people  in  the  city,  were  not 
there;  but  in  an  alter  acquaintance  with  the 
character  of  the  inhabitants,  I  found  that  her 
having  anything  do  with  it  made  it  a  wonder 
there  were  any  there  at  all,  her  philosophical 
mode  of  going  to  heaven  being  objectionable  to 
a  large  portion  of  the  American  population. 

She  appeared  delighted  at  this  new  appliance 
of  her  property. 

"  I  always  told  Mr.  Trollope,"  said  she,  with 
great  glee,  "that  I  should  make  a  fortune  by 
this  building,  after  all.  A  series  of  entertain- 
ments of  this  kind  must  become  fashionable  in 
time.  My  friend,  Mrs.  Drake,  is  exactly  of  my 
way  of  thinking:  we  must  prevail  on  you  and 
your  dear  little  boy  to  remain  with  us  for  a  week 
or  two  longer." 

"  That  will  be  impossible,  madam,"  I  replied. 
"  And  I  have  been  too  long  accustomed  to  a  reg- 
ular theatre  to  be  of  any  use  in  a  performance  of 
this  description." 

"  Oh  !  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  she,  quickly;. 
"  the  ladies  are  all  delighted  with  your  song — 
you  must  sing  us  another  or  two.  And  as  to  a 
regular  theatre,  just  step  this  way,  and  I'll  show 
you  what  I  intend  to  do." 

And  away  the  bustling  little  lady  went,  and  I 
at  her  heels. 

"  Now  you  see,  Mr.  Cowell,  I'll  have  the  dais 
enlarged,  and  made  on  a  declivity  ;  and  then  I'll 
have  beautiful  scenes  painted  in  oil  colours,  so 
that  they  can  be  washed  every  morning  and  kept 
clean.  I  have  a  wonderfully  talented  French 
painter,  whom  I  brought  with  me,  but  the  people 
here  don't  appreciate  him,  and  this  will  help  to 
bring  him  into  notice.  And  then  I'll  have  a  hole 
cut  here,"  describing  a  square  on  the  floor  with 
her  toe;  "and  then  a  geometrical  staircase  for 
the  artistes  to  ascend  perpendicularly,"  twirling 
round  and  round  her  finger,  "  instead  of  having 
to  walk  through  the  audience  part  of  the  area. 
Or,"  said  she,  after  a  pause,  "  I'll  tell  you  what 
will  be  as  well,  and  not  so  costly.  I'll  have 
some  canvass  nailed  along  the  ceiling,  on  this 
side,  to  form  a  passage  to  lead  to  the  stage  ;  Mr. 
Hervien  can  paint  it  like  damask,  with  a  large 
gold  border,  and  it  would  have  a  fine  effect !" 

Fortunately,  a  farther  description  of  contem- 
plated alterations  was  interrupted  by  one  of  her 
little  ladies,  as  she  appropriately  called  her 
daughters,  who  came  in  a  hurry  to  inform  her 
that  the  fashionables  had  eaten  up  all  the  cakes, 
and  she  trotted  off  to  supply  the  deficiency;  and 
I,  recollecting  the  "  one  or  two  more"  songs  I 
might  be  expected  to  sing,  whispered  to  Sam  to 
follow  me  as  soon  as  possible,  and  was  sneaking 
quietly  down  stairs,  when  I  was  met  by  my 
friend  Rogers.  He  then  kept  a  dry-goods  store, 
but  formerly  was  of  the  firm  of  Rogers  and 
Page,  of  Philadelphia,  who  had  been  my  tailors 
for  years. 

"  Why,  hallo!  Cowell,"  said  he,  "you  are  not 
going.  The  ladies  have  commissioned  me  to  get 
you  to  sing  them  another  song." 

"  Oh !  certainly,"  said  I ;  "  with  great  pleas- 
ure.    I  shall  be  back  in  an  instant." 

I  knew  it  was  useless  to  refuse ;  everybody 
knows  that  tailors  will  never  take  no  for  an  an- 
swer, even  when  they  dun  you  for  their  bill;  so, 
following  the  example  of  their  customers,  I  lied. 
But  fearing  that  his  perseverance  might  induce 
him  even  to  follow  me  to  my  hotel,  I  took  shel- 
ter in  a  tavern  at  the  corner  of  Market-street  and 
Broadway ;  had  a  chat  with  Jemmy  Gibson,  then 
the  proprietor,  and  sipped  gin-and-water  till  the 


90 


THIRTY   YEARS 


lights  were  extinguished  in  Mrs.  Trollope's  tur- 
ret, and  the  show  and  all  danger  over. 

Cincinnati  bore  the  character  of  a  very  bad 
theatrical  town  at  that  time;  but  even  in  the 
sketch  I  have  given,  I  have  shown,  I  think,  good 
cause  why  nothing  else  could  be  expected.  But 
the  first  season  I  was  acting-manager  for  Cald- 
well, though  we  had  a  temporary  theatre,  a  more 
elegant  and  discerning  audience  could  not  be 
met  with  in  the  United  States ;  and  we  had  real- 
ly fashionable,  and,  what  was  better,  crowded 
.houses  every  night. 

The  next  morning  we  started  for  Kentucky. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

"  This  is  some  fellow 
"Who,  having  been  praised  for  bluntness,  doth  affect 
A  saucy  roughness,  and  constrains  the  garb 
Quite  from  his  nature.     He  cannot  flatter,  he  !" 

King  Lear. 

The  regular  theatre  at  Louisville,  an  excel- 
'lent  brick  building,  belonging  to  old  Drake,  was 
closed  ;  but  a  cattle  shed  or  stable  had  been  ap- 
propriated to  that  purpose,  and  fitted  up  as  a  tem- 
porary stage.  The  yard  adjoining,  with  the 
board  fence  heightened  and  covered  with  some 
old  canvass,  supported  by  scaffold  poles  to  Ibrm 
the  roof,  and  rough  seats  on  an  ascent  to  the  back, 
and  capable  of  holding  about  two  hundred  per- 
sons, constituted  the  audience  part  of  the  estab- 
lishment, the  lower  benches  nearest  the  stage 
being  dignified  by  the  name  of  boxes,  and  the 
upper,  nearest  the  ceiling,  the  pit.  Here  I  found 
a  strolling  company  on  a  sharing  scheme,  at  the 
head  of  which  was  N.  M.  Ludlow.  Nothing  I 
had  ever  seen  in  the  way  of  theatricals  could  be 
likened  to  this  deplorable  party.  At  Cincinnati 
■I  thought  it  was  as  wretched  a  specimen  as  it 
"well  could  be  anywhere ;  but  there  it  was  real- 
ly a  theatre,  and  the  company  composed  of  much 
unexperienced  talent :  Rice  and  Mrs.  George 
Rowe,  for  instance,  and  Drake  and  his  accom- 
plished wife,  were  capable  of  holding  the  first 
xank  in  the  drama  in  any  theatre ;  but  here  there 
was  not  one  redeeming  point.  Who  they  all 
"were,  or  what  has  become  of  them,  Heaven  only 


knows  ;  I  don't  remember  to  have  met  with  any 
of  them  since,  with  the  exception  of  the  manager 
and  his  lady.  Hamblin  had  just  concluded  an 
■engagement  here  ;  and  after  as  formal  a  negoti- 
ation as  if  it  had  been  the  Park  Theatre,  we  en- 
tered into  an  agreement  for  a  few  nights,  I  think 
to  receive  forty  per  cent,  after  one  hundred  dol- 
lars for  six  or  seven  performances,  and  half  of  the 
whole  receipts  at  each  benefit.  We  played  to 
crowded  houses. 

The  strict  financial  correctness,  with  the  dili- 
gence and  skill  displayed  by  Ludlow  in  con- 
ducting this  "  poverty-struck"  concern,  is  above 
all  praise,  and  gained  for  him  the  confidence  of 
Caldwell,  who  shortly  after  engaged  him  as  his 
agent  to  manage  a  branch  of  his  company  at 
St.  Louis  and  other  places.  This  responsible 
though  subordinate  position  he  was  well  quali- 
fied to  maintain,  and  with  the  powerful  advanta- 
ges of  Caldwell's  name  and  purse  to  support  the 
xespectability  of  the  establishment,  no  matter  if 
successful  or  not,  his  "official  capacity"  gained 
for  him  both  friends  and  reputation.  Three  or 
four  years  afterward  he  went  into  management 
again  on  his  own  account  with  some  success, 
and  ultimately  formed  a  partnership  with  Sol. 


Smith — a  very  worthy  fellow,  somewhat  over- 
charged with  caricature  fun,  which  is  tolerated 
on  the  stage  more  for  old  acquaintance'  sake  in 
that  part  of  the  Union  where  he  has  been  long 
known  and  respected,  than  for  any  other  reason 
common  sense  could  give.  He  had  also  been  a 
strolling  manager  through  some  small  towns  in 
Alabama  and  Georgia,  by  which  he  had  realized 
a  reputed  handsome  property.  At  that  short- 
lived time  when  what  went  for  money  was  in- 
trinsically of  little  or  no  value,  and,  of  course, 
most  plentiful,  a  splendid  theatre  was  built  and 
leased  to  them  at  St.  Louis;  and  the  profits  of 
their  first  season  was  immense,  for,  receiving 
only  money  at  par,  or  specie,  and  disbursing  the 
depreciated  paper  then  generally  in  circulation, 
their  opportunities  for  a  profitable  exchange  were 
alone  worth  a  little  fortune.  But  in  a  theatrical 
point  of  view  only,  the  requisites  that  can  make 
a  few  tattered  actors  in  a  room  or  stable  profita- 
ble or  respectable,  are  qualifications  but  ill  cal- 
culated to  exalt  or  maintain  what  should  be  the 
state  of  the  legitimate  drama.  And  now  that 
Caldwell  will  no  longer  serve  as  a  check  or  an 
example,  the  perfect  prostration  of  the  profession 
at  the  South  and  West  may  be  considered  as 
certain.  I  have  just  heard  that  they  have  leased 
the  Mobile  Theatre,  as  well  as  that  they  call  the 
St.  Charles  at  New-Orleans. 

Anderson,  who  made  his  exit  from  Cincinnati 
as  soon  as  his  benefit  was  over,  I  again  met 
here.  He  is  an  Englishman  of  good  family,  and 
married  Jefferson's  eldest  daughter.  Endowed 
with  much  natural  and  acquired  talent,  he  can  be 
a  most  agreeable  companion,  but  so  eccentric  is 
his  disposition,  that  his  own  and  other's  miseries 
are  his  only  jokes  :  he  will  tell  of  a  child  having 
been  run  over,  or  something  equally  shocking, 
with  a  smile  of  satisfaction  ;  and  a  piece  of  good 
luck  to  himself  or  any  of  his  friends,  with  a  most 
melancholy  countenance.  Determined  to  be 
wretched  and  prostrate  himself,  he  glories  in 
meeting  mankind  in  the  same  situation  ;  and  the 
theatrical  society  he  found  at  Louisville  appear- 
ed to  actually  intoxicate  him  with  delight.  His 
extreme  disagreeableness  was  most  amusing  to 
me,  and  he  was  a  constant  visiter  at  my  room  at 
Langhorne's,  then  considered  the  principal  hotel. 
Some  five  years  ago,  when  everybody  who  did 
not  care  where  they  went,  went  to  Texas,  he 
went  too ;  and  among  the  numbers  I  have  known 
who  have  tried  the  experiment  of  making  a  liv- 
ing in  that  experimental  country,  he  is  the  only 
one  I  ever  knew  return  without  either  person  or 
apparel  being  the  worse  for  the  trip  ;  everybody 
else  appeared  as  if  they  had  slept  in  their  hats 
all  the  while  they  were  there ;  but  he  was  water 
proof  in  hat  and  heart,  and  was  the  same  as  ever; 
and,  according  to  his  own  account,  he  had  literal- 
ly lived  all  through  the  cholera  on  mushrooms  of 
his  own  gathering.  To  his  experience  I  left  the 
selection  of  a  boat  for  New-Orleans,  as,  in  conse- 
quence of  procuring  two  passengers,  he  explained 
that  the  captain  would  take  him  for  less  than  the 
usual  charge,  or,  in  all  probability,  "chalk  his 
hat,"  and  he  chose  the  Helen  M'Gregor,  Tyson, 
master,  on  these  favourable  terms. 

A  few  days  after  we  became  intimate,  byway 
of  giving  a  business-like  responsibility  to  our 
connexion,  he  became  the  borrower  of  a  "  V,"  as 
he  called  it,  alias  five  dollars,  which  trifling  ob- 
ligation he  soon  increased  to  an  "X;"  but,  un- 
fortunately, my  not  being  in  the  humour  a  day  or 
two  after  to  add  another  V  to  his  Roman  numer- 
als, "  my  offence  was  rank,"  and  he  left  me,  high- 


PASSED    AMONG    THE    PLAYERS. 


91 


ly incensed  at  my ungentlemanlike conduct;  and 
though  we  travelled  on  the  same  boat,  he  did  not 
even  condescend  to  look  at  me,  much  less  to 
speak,  and  I  lost  the  gratification  of  his  sarcastic 
pleasantries,  for  which  there  was  such  a  glorious 
scope  in  the  variegated  party  who  constituted  our 
companions.  The  morning  after  my  arrival  in 
New-Orleans,  before  I  left  my  bed,  a  yellow 
■woman  with  a  cup  of  coffee  announced  a  gentle- 
man :  I  opened  my  eyes  to  see  Mr.  Anderson  toss 
■with  an  air  of  dignity  on  the  coverlet  ten  silver 
dollars,  and  then  coming  to  my  side,  thrust  forth 
his  hand,  and  said,  "  Now,  sir,  I'm  out  of  your 
debt — shall  we  be  friends  again  V 

I,  of  course,  said  yes,  but  urged  that  he  would 
not  inconvenience  himself  by  an  immediate  pay- 
ment. 

"Sir!"  said  he,  pompously,  "take  the  vile 
trash,  and  never  name  the  subject.  I  was  part- 
ly wrong,  and  you  mistook  your  man." 

I  laced  my  coffee ;  he  mixed  himself  some 
brandy-and- water;  he  has  never  asked  to  bor- 
row, and  I  have  never  offered  to  lend,  and  I 
have  had  the  pleasure  of  his  acquaintance  ever 
since,  and  he  is  still  the  same;  his  well-merited, 
continual  poverty  serving  to  make  his  high 
sense  of  honour  the  more  conspicuous. 

As  an  actor,  he  is  highly  respectable  in  all  he 
undertakes ;  and  a  little  bit  of  him  now  and  then 
Is  so  delicious  in  a  green-room,  that  wherever  I 
am  employed,  and  have  influence  with  the  man- 
agement, Anderson  is  sure  of  an  engagement. 

Jemmy  Bland's  reply,  in  Shakspeare's  play, 
describes  him  to  a  nicety: 

"  Who  is  this  CoriolanusT' 

"Who  is  he"?"  said  Jemmy,  not  knowing 
-what  he  ought  to  say  :  "  why,  he's  a  fellow  who 
is  always  going  about  grumbling,  and  making 
everybody  uncomfortable." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

"  Oh,  won't  you — oh,  won't  you 
Go  along  with  me 
Away  down  the  river, 

Through  Kentucky?" — Western  Ballad. 

The  floating  palaces  which  now  navigate  the 
Western  waters,  bear  as  little  likeness  to  the  style 
of  vessels  then  in  use,  as  the  manners  and  char- 
acters of  the  majority  of  passengers  you  met 
with  then,  resemble  the  travellers  who  now  as- 
semble in  the  magnificent  saloons  of  the  pres- 
ent day,  where  all  the  etiquette  and  decorum  is 
observed  of  a  table  d'hote  at  a  well-appointed 
hotel. 

A  sketch  of  what  is  will  serve,  by  contrast,  the 
better  to  convey  an  idea  of  what  was  considered 
a  first-rate  class  of  boat  in  1829.  In  speaking 
of  the  Western  steamers  of  the  present  day,  I 
shall  only  allude  to  that  portion  of  the  vessel 
appropriated  to  the  passengers,  and  that  must 
not  be  considered  as  identical,  but  an  average 
description;  the  Missouri,  the  Harry  of  the  West, 
and  twenty  others,  I  could  name  as  far  exceed- 
ing, in  many  instances,  the  portrait  I  shall  draw. 
The  saloon,  or  principal  chamber,  extends  near- 
ly the  whole  length  of  the  boat,  on  the  upper 
deck,  over  the  machinery  and  steerage,  as  it  is 
called — where  comfortable  accommodations  are 
provided  for  the  deck-hands  and  deck-passen- 
gers—  terminating  forward  with  large  glazed 
doors  opening  on  a  covered  space  called  the 
boiler-deck,  and  aft  by  the  ladies'  cabin,  with 
which  it  communicates  by  folding  doors,  which 


are  generally  left  open  in  warm  weather,  in  the 
daytime.  The  whole  is  lighted  from  above  by 
a  continuous  skylight,  round  the  side  of  a  long 
oval,  which  looks  as  if  it  had  been  cut  out  from 
the  ceiling,  and  lifted  some  two  feet  above  it 
perpendicularly,  and  there  supported  by  framed 
glass.  On  either  side  of  this  carpeted  and  splen- 
didly-furnished apartment  are  ranged  the  state- 
rooms, the  doors  ornamented  with  Venitian  or 
cut-glass  windows,  and  assisting,  by  their  long 
line  of  perspective,  the  general  effect.  These 
small  chambers  usually  contain  two  berths, 
never  more,  which  always  look  as  if  you  were 
the  first  person  who  had  ever  slept  in  them — 
with  curtains,  moscheto-bars,  toilet  stands,  draw- 
ers, chairs,  carpets,  and  all  the  elegant  necessa- 
ries of  a  cosey  bedroom.  Another  door  leads  to 
the  guard,  or  piazza,  protected  with  a  railing  on 
the  side,  and  covered  overhead;  and  this  forms 
a  promenade  all  round  the  boat,  and  joins  the 
boiler-deck,  where  you  can  lounge  with  your 
cigar,  and  view  with  wonder,  perhaps  with  re- 
gret, if  your  nature  is  picturesque,  the  hourly 
interference  of  untiring  man  with  the  solitude 
of  the  long-remembered  wilderness. 

The  ladies  are  even  more  carefully  provided 
for;  there  is  usually  one,  and  often  two  grand 
pianofortes  in  their  apartment;  which  I  should 
consider  a  positive  nuisance  if  obliged  to  hear 
them  tickled  to  death  by  young  beginners  and 
nurse-maids  amusing  themselves  by  making  be- 
lieve to  keep  the  children  quiet;  but,  Heaven 
be  praised,  there  is  plenty  of  room  to  get  out  of 
the  way,  this  area  being  usually  from  eighty  to 
two  hundred  feet  in  length.  In  many  of  the  lar- 
ger boats  double  state-rooms  are  provided  for 
families,  and  young  married  people  who  are 
afraid  to  sleep  by  themselves,  with  four-post  bed- 
steads, and  other  on-shore  arrangements — such  as 
are  to  be  found  at  the  St.  Charles's  Exchange,  or 
Barnum's  Hotel,  or,  what  is  better  still,  at  home. 

Now  the  Helen  M'Gregor  was  a  very  differ- 
ent affair,  but  in  her  day  her  reputation  was  as 
high  as  anybody's  or  boat's.  It  was  at  night, 
and  in  December,  raining  and  making  believe  to 
snow,  when  I  arrived  on  board  at  Shipping  Port, 
some  two  miles  below  Louisville;  the  boat  be- 
ing very  heavily  laden,  and  drawing  too  much 
water  to  get  over  the  falls,  and  the  canal  was 
not  then  finished  —  a  most  beautiful  piece  of 
work,  by-the-by;  the  excavation  being  made  in 
the  solid  limestone  rock,  gave  it  the  appearance 
of  an  enormous  empty  marble  bath.  She  was 
crowded  with  passengers  :  perhaps  a  hundred  in 
the  cabin,  and  at  least  that  number  upon  deck; 
for  at  that  time  the  steerage  occupied  the  space 
now  allotted  to  the  saloon,  and  was  filled  to  over- 
flowing with  men,  women,  and  children,  chiefly 
Irish  and  German  labourers,  with  their  families, 
in  dirty  dishabille.  This  man-pejvwas  furnished 
with  a  stove,  for  warmth  and  domestic  cooking, 
and  two  large,  empty  shelves,  one  above  the 
other,  all  round,  boarded  up  outside  about  four 
feet  high.  These  served  for  sleeping-places  for 
those  who  had  bedding,  or  those  who  were  obli- 
ged to  plank  it;  the  remaining  space  above  these 
roosts  was  only  protected  from  the  weather  by 
tattered  canvass  curtains  between  the  pillars 
which  supported  the  hurricane-deck,  alias  the 
roof,  which  was  spread  over  with  a  multitude  of 
cabbages,  making  sourkrout  of  themselves  as 
fast  as  possible,  and  at  least  fifty  coops  of  fight- 
ing-cocks, each  in  a  separate  apartment,  with  a 
hole"  in  the  front  for  his  head  to  come  through; 
and  their  continual  notes  of  defiance,  mixed  up 


92 


THIRTY   YEARS 


•with  the  squalling  and  squeaking  of  women  and 
children,  and  the  boisterous  mirth  or  vehement 
quarrelling  of  the  men,  in  all  kinds  of  languages, 
altogether  kicked  up  a  rumpus  that  drowned 
even  the  noise  of  the  engine,  which  then  was 
only  separated  from  the  cabin  by  a  thin  parti- 
tion. By-the-by,  all  our  old  poets  speak  of  "the 
cock,  that  is  the  herald  of  the  morn,"  as  if  he  did 
not  crow  in  the  night!  but  only  at  the  approach 
of  day,  and  in  the  daytime.  I  know  little  about 
rural  felicity  in  my  own  country;  but  here,  in 
America,  the  cocks  crow  whenever  they  think 
proper,  and  always  all  night  long,  particularly  on 
board  a  steamboat,  because  there  you  are  more 
likely  to  take  notice  of  the  annoyance. 

The  cabin  was  on  the  lower  deck,  immediate- 
ly abaft  the  boilers,  with  a  small  partition  at  the 
stern  set  apart  for  the  females.  At  the  time  1 
speak  of,  there  were  very  kw  resident  American 
merchants  at  New-Orleans  at  all,  and  those  few 
generally  left  their  families  at  home  in  the  North 
and  therefore  the  presence  of  woman — 

"  Creatine  in  whom  excell'd 
Whatever  can  to  sight  or  thought  be  forin'd, 
Holy,  divine,  good,  amiable,  or  sweet !" 

•was  no  restraint  on  naturally  barbarous  man, 
and,  consequently,  "  a  trip  down  the  river"  was 
then  an  uncontrolled  yearly  opportunity  for  the 
young  merchants  and  their  clerks  to  go  it  with  a 
perfect  looseness,  mixed  up  indiscriminately  with 
"a  sort  of  vagabonds"  of  all  nations,  who  then 
made  New-Orleans  their  "  jumping-ojf place,"  till 
Texas  fortunately  offered  superior  inducements, 
and  there  war  and  disease  have  bravely  thinned 
the  hordes  of 

"  Rascals,  runaways,  and  base  lackey  peasants, 
Whom  their  o'er-cloy'd  countries  vomit  forth 
To  desperate  venture  and  assured  destruction." 

All  moral  and  social  restraint  was  placed  in  the 
shade — there  Jack  was  as  good  as  his  master — and 
never  was  Republicanism  more  practically  re- 
publicanized  than  it  was  during  the  twelve  days 
of  confinement  I  passed  on  board  this  high-pres- 
sure prison. 

Some  such  a  party  I  presume  it  was  that  Mrs. 
Trollope  met  with,  which  she,  no  doubt  innocent- 
ly, but  ignorantly,  gives  as  a  specimen  of  the 
''■domestic  maimers  of  the  Americans."  Poor  old 
lady,  what  a  mess  she  made  of  it! 

There  were  no  state-rooms,  no  wash-room,  nor 
even  a  social-hall ;  and,  therefore,  on  the  guard — 
within  two  inches  of  the  level  of  the  river,  and 
about  two  feet  wide,  with  nothing  to  prevent 
your  falling  overboard  if  your  foot  slipped,  or 
"  was  a  little  swipey" — you  made  your  toilet,  with 
a  good  chunk  of  yellow  soap  on  a  stool,  to  which 
two  tin  basins  were  chained,  and  alongside  a 
barrel  of  water.  The  cabin  contained  thirty-two 
berths;  and  the  two  next  the  door  Anderson  had 
secured  for  myself  and  my  dear  boy.  In  the 
daytime  these  were  piled  up  with  the  surplus 
mattresses  and  blankets,  which,  at  night,  were 
spread  close  together  on  the  floor,  and  under  and 
on  the  dining-tables,  for  so  many  of  the  remain- 
der of  the  passengers  as  were  fortunate  enough 
to  have  precedence  even  in  this  luxury,  after  the 
berths  were  disposed  of.  The  remainder  of  the 
party  sat  up,  drinking,  smoking,  playing  cards, 
or  grumbling  at  not  being  able  to  find  a  single 
horizontal  space,  under  cover,  large  enough  to 
stretch  their  weary  limbs  on;  perhaps  changing 
the  scene  of  their  discontent  by  going  on  shun: 
at  a  wood-pile,  and  putting  their  eyes  out  by 
standing  in  the  smoke  of  the  signal-fire,  to  de- 


fend themselves  from  the  bloodthirsty  attacks  of 
a  million  of  moschetoes. 

Fortunately,  the  weather  was  most  delightful 
for  the  season  of  the  year,  and  Sam  and  I  passed 
most  of  our  time  on  the  hurricane-deck,  among 
the  cabbages,  leaving  their  fragrance  behind ;  and 
the  chicken-cocks,  with  Sam  and  the  echoes,  all 
imitating  one  another.  Your  arrival  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Ohio  is  visibly  announced  by  the 
sudden  and  extraordinary  discoloration  of  the 
water,  which  gives  you  notice  the  moment  you- 
pass  the  threshold  of  the  great  Mississippi.. 
From  childhood  familiar  with  all  the  wonders 
of  the  ocean,  a  mental  comparison  with  it  and 
this  gigantic  river  was  natural  to  me,  on  first 
making  its  acquaintance ;  and  I  confess  it  claim- 
ed a  formidable  share  of  the  awe  and  admiration 
I  had  hitherto  considered  only  due,  as  far  as  wa- 
ter was  concerned,  to  my  old  associate.  Call  it 
the  Missouri — which  I  wish  it  had  been  called — 
and  it  measures  4490  miles  in  length  !  and  if  the 
Mississippi,  2910,  and  passes  through  more  than 
twenty  degrees  of  latitude! 

What  a  pity  that  that  microscopic  observer  of 
nature  mi  two  legs,  the  immense  Dickens,  should 
so  soon  have  made  up  his  mind  that  it  wasn't  fit 
either  to  taste  or  talk  of! 

"  Oh  !  think  what  tales  he'd  have  to  tell" 

if  he,  instead  of  taking  the  wrong  pig  by  the  ear, 
had  taken  a  trip  or  two  up  the  Missouri  with  my 
worthy  friend  Captain  Dennis,  of  the  Thames, 
or  had  had  the  useless  experience 

"  Of  wandering  youths  like  me." 

The  Upper  Mississippi,  as  it  is  called — God 
send  that  every  friend  I  have  on  earth  could  be- 
hold for  even  once  the  stupendous  wonders  through 
which  a  portion  of  the  navigable  part  of  the  Up- 
per Mississippi  rolls  along — though  the  stream 
itself  might  wander  through  the  world,  and  be 
likened  to  a  hundred  others,  or  pass  unnoticed : 
but  when  it  joins  the  Missouri,  or,  more  fitly 
speaking,  when  the  Missouri  takes  possession  of 
its  course,  its  pure  and  placid  character  is  gone 
forever.  A  Bath-brick  finely  pulverized  and 
stirred  up  in  a  pailful  of  spring  water  may  give 
a  conceived  resemblance  of  its  colour  and  con- 
sistency ;  and  this  appearance  it  maintains,  wilh 
an  interminable  and  never-ceasing  rush,  for  the 
remainder  of  its  journey,  of  more  than  thirteen 
hundred  miles. 

Well  was  it  named  "  The  Fallier  of  Waters," 
ibr  even  when  the  "  crystal  pavement,''  for  a  win- 
ter month  or  two,  suspends  a  portion  of  its  navi- 
gation, 

"The  whole  imprison'd  river  growls  below," 

embracing  in  its  mad  career  the  thousands  of 
miles  of  waters  emptied  into  it  by  the  Illinois, 
the  Ohio,  the  Arkansas,  the  Red  River,  and  the 
innumerable  smaller  streams,  all  aiding  to  in- 
crease its  power.  And  in  return,  the  mighty  ty- 
rant overwhelms  on  the  instant  their  transparent 
interference,  and  carries  with  it,  in  its  turgid 
course,  its  mountain-stained  identity,  even  for 
miles,  into  the  Gulf  of  Mexico!  till,  in  contin- 
uous struggles  for  the  mastery,  it  fades  away,  in 
oil-like  circles,  round  and  round  the  deep,  dark 
blue  of  the  old  Atlantic. 

Who  the  ladies  were  on  board,  I  know  not: 
none  were  ever  seen  with  the  exception  of  Fanny 
Wright;  and  her  notorious  anti-matrimonial 
propensities,  at  that  time,  hardly  gave  her  a  claim 
to  come  under  that  denomination.  As  soon  as 
our  breakfast  was  over,  which  occupied  an  hour 


PASSED   AMONG   THE    PLAYERS. 


93 


and  a  half  or  more,  the  double  row  of  tables,  the 
•extreme  length  of  the  cabin,  consisting  of  a  com- 
mon mahogany  one  at  each  end,  and  the  inter- 
mediate space  tilled  up  by  a  pile  of  shutters  laid 
side  by  side,  and  supported  by  trestles,  had  to  be 
three  or  lour  times  provided  with  venison,  wild 
ducks,  geese,  and  turkies,  and  all  the  luxuries 
of  this  o'erteeming  country,  and  there  called 
common  food.  This  operation  ended,  the  origi- 
nal Fanny  would  take  her  station  at  a  small  ta- 
ble, near  the  door  of  the  ladies'  cabin,  and  sit  and 
write  or  read  till  late  at  night,  with  the  exception 
of  the  time  for  meals,  and  an  hour  or  two  of  ex- 
ercise upon  the  guard ;  and  the  moment  she  made 
her  appearance  there,  without  form  or  show  of 
ceremony,  it  was  respectfully  deserted  by  the 
men  till  her  promenade  was  over.  The  Amer- 
icans are  naturally  the  most  unostentatiously 
gallant  people  in  the  world.  An  Englishman 
will  make  a  long  apology  for  not  doing  what  he 
should  have  done,  and  said  nothing  about  it ;  and 
a  Frenchman  will  upset  a  glass  oiparfaii  V  amour 
in  a  lady's  lap,  by  dancing  over  a  tea-stand  to 
hand  her  a  bon-bon,  in  an  attitude  ! 

Among  the  men  were  some  most  intelligent 
and  entertaining  companions.  A  day  or  two 
formed  us  all  into  little  knots  or  parties;  and  I 
was  a  member  of  a  most  delightful  one,  among 
whom  was  gladly  admitted,  for  his  good-humour 
and  originality,  the  proprietor  of  the  fighting 
cocks.  He  was  a  young  man,  but  had  evident- 
ly taken  so  many  liberties  with  Time,  that  he,  in 
return,  had  honoured  him  with  many  conspicu- 
ous marks  of  early  favour,  and  milk-white  hairs 
began  to  dispute  with  his  untrimned  auburn  locks 
the  shading  of  his  open,  manly  brow. 

He  took  a  great  fancy  to  my  dear  boy,  and,  in 
consequence,  I  was  high  in  his  favour  and  con- 
fidence, and  he  insisted  on  telling  me  a  portion 
of  his  history.  His  grandfather  was  a  man  of 
great  wealth  in  the  Old  Dominion,  and  a  distin- 
guished member  of  her  councils.  His  father, 
born  to  inherit  his  certain  share  of  the  property, 
began  to  spend  it  before  he  actually  came  in  pos- 
session of  his  fortune,  married  early  in  life,  and 
lost  his  wife  in  giving  birth  to  this  only  son  ;  and 
living  night  and  day  full  gallop,  died  of  literal 
old  age  at  forty-five. 

"The  night  he  died,"  said  my  young  friend, 
putting  a  deck  of  marble-backed  cards  into  his 
pocket,  with  which  he  had  just  satisfactorily 
concluded  a  game  at  old  sledge,  "the  night 
he  died,  my  father  called  me  to  the  side  of  his 
bed.  '  Washington,'  said  he,  taking  my  hand  in 
his,  which  felt  as  cold  and  clammy  as  a  dead 
fish,  'Washington,  you'll  never  be  able  to  pay 
off  the  mortgage  on  the  property,  and  you'll  be 
left  without  a  dollar.'  I  said  nothing ;  it  was  of 
no  use.  '  Here,  take  my  keys,'  said  he,  '  and  go 
to  the  escritoir,  and  in  the  right-hand  little 
drawer  you'll  find — but  no  matter,  bring  the 
drawer  and  all.'  I  did  as  I  was  told.  'Now,' 
said  he,  picking  out  the  apparatus,  'send  the 
boy  to  get  a  chicken,  and  I'll  show  you  some- 
thing I  paid  too  dearly  lor  the  learning — and  that's 
just  it,'  said  the  old  man,  with  a  deep  sigh ;  'if 
my  father  had  left  me  nothing  else,  I  should  not 
now  leave  my  boy  in  poverty.'  1  couldn't  speak, 
for  I  saw  the  old  man  rub  his  hand  across  his 
eyes,  so  I  kept  on  waxing  the  silk  as  he  had  di- 
rected. The  boy  had  brought  the  bird — a  perfect 
picture — he  didn't  touch  the  feathers;  he  had 
learned  me  all  that,  and  how  to  hold  a  chicken, 
when  I  wasn't  bigger  than  your  boy  Sam,  but 
the  heeling  was  the  grand  secret.    The  old  gen- 


tleman then  trimmed  and  sawed  the  spur,  and 
spit  upon  the  buckskin,  telling  me,  all  the  time, 
to  looic  on  and  mind  what  he  was  doing;  but  he 
was  so  feeble  the  little  exertion  was  too  much, 
and  he  got  quite  exhausted,  and  I  made  the  boy 
take  the  cock,  while  I  supported  father.  When 
he  got  through,  '  There,'  said  he,  triumphantly, 
with  a  kind  of  squeaking  chuckle,  '  lhaX's  the 
way  to  gaff  a  chicken',  that  will  beat  Ike  world!' 
and  fell  back  upon  his  pillow.  He  made  the 
boy  jump  when  he  said,  that's  tlte  way  to  gaff  a 
chicken!  and  the  steel  jerked  through  the  nig- 
ger's hand — the  blood  spirted  out  upon  the  sheet; 
and  as  I  turned  to  sop  it  up,  father's  eyes  were 
full  upon  me,  but  yet  he  didn't  look.  '  Father,'  I 
said,  softly,  and  waited,  but  he  didn't  speak: 
1  Father !'  I  put  my  ear  close  to  his  open  mouth : 
'  Father,'  I  said  again,  but  he  didn't  answer — 
the  old  gentleman  was  dead.  But  he  had  showed, 
me  how  to  gaff  a  chicken-cock." 

Playing  at  cards  was  the  chief  amusement  at 
night,  and  my  skill  only  extending  to  a  homely 
game  at  whist,  I  was  more  frequently  a  looker 
on  than  a  participator.  My  friend  Washington 
was  an  adept  at  all  short  gambling  games;  and 
one  that  1  don't  remember  to  have  seen  played 
since,  and  which  he  boasted  of  having  been  the 
inventor  of,  of  course  he  was  particularly  expert 
at.  It  appeared  a  game  of  chance,  as  simple  as 
tossing  up  a  dollar.  Two  only  played  at  it,  and 
three  cards  were  singly  dealt  to  each,  of  the  same 
value  as  at  whist,  and  a  trump  turned  up ;  and 
the  opponent  to  the  dealer  might  order  it  to  be 
turned  down,  and  then  make  it  another  suit  more 
agreeable  to  his  hand,  or  play  it  as  it  was.  Of 
course,  the  great  point  in  favour  of  the  opponent 
to  the  dealer  was  to  know  if  he  held  any  trumps, 
and  how  many  he  had.  For  some  time  luck 
seemed  to  be  greatly  in  favour  of  my  chicken 
friend,  and  the  bets  were  doubled — trebled,  and 
he  gave  me  a  knowing,  triumphant  look,  while 
glancing  at  his  pile.  But  suddenly  there  came 
a  sad  reverse  of  fortune. 

Sitting  by  was  an  apparently  uninterested 
looker-on  like  myself,  peering  over  my  friend's 
hand,  and  marking,  by  his  fingers  stretched  upon 
the  table,  the  number  of  trumps  he  held.  The 
eagle  eye  of  the  Virginian  soon  detected  the  vil- 
lany,  and  taking  out  his  hunting-knife — it  was 
before  Bowie  christened  them — began  paring 
his  nails  with  well-acted  indifference,  as  if  en- 
tirely absorbed  in  the  game,  and  laid  it  quietly 
on  the  table  without  its  sheath.  The  next  hand 
dealt  him  one  trump,  and  the  spy  placed  his 
fore-finger  on  the  table,  which  my  friend  instant- 
ly chopped  off! 

"  Hallo  !  stranger,  what  are  you  about  V 
shouted  the  dismembered  gentleman.  "You 
have  cut  off  one  of  my  fingers." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  old  Virginia,  coolly;  "and 
if  I  had  had  more  trumps,  you  would  have  had 
less  fingers." 

This  was  considered  an  excellent  practical 
joke,  and  we  all  took  a  drink  together,  and  I  lent 
the  wounded  a  handkerchief  to  bind  up  his  hand, 
which  I  reminded  him  last  fall,  at  Gallatin  races, 
that  he  had  forgotten  to  return. 

A  lieutenant  in  the  navy,  on  his  way  to  Pen- 
sacola  to  join  his  ship,  was  one  of  our  boat- 
mates,  and  belonged  to  the  flooring  committee — 
so  all  were  called  who  had  to  sleep  on  it.  Two 
ardent  devotees  at  seven-up,  finding  no  better 
place  late  at  night,  while  he  was  fast  asleep 
coiled  away  in  his  cloak,  squatted  on  either 
side  of  him",  and  made  his  shoulder  their  table. 


94 


THIRTY    YEARS 


The  continual  tip,  tap,  as  the  cards  were  played 
by  each  upon  his  back,  rather  aided  his  seaman- 
like repose ;  but  an  energetic  slap  by  one  of  the 
combatants  at  being  "High.,  by  thunder!"  awa- 
kened him,  and  looking  up,  one  of  the  players, 
slightly  urging  down  his  head,  said,  in  a  confi- 
dential whisper, 

"  Hold  on  a  minute,  stranger;  the  game's  just 
out — I've  only  two  to  go — have  twelve  for  game 
in  my  own  hand,  and  have  got  the  Jack." 

He,  of  course,  accommodated  them,  and  when 
the  game  was  out,  he  found  they  had  been  keep- 
ing the  run  of  it  with,  chalk  tallied  on  his  stand-up 
collar. 

One  night,  while  I  was  getting  instructed  in 
the  mysteries  of  uker,  and  Sam  was  amusing 
himself  by  building  houses  with  the  surplus 
cards  at  the  corner  of  the  table,  close  by  us  was 
a  party  playing  poker.  This  was  then  exclu- 
sively a  high-gambling  Western  game,  founded 
on  brag,  invented,  as  it  is  said,  by  Henry  Clay 
when  a  youth;  and  if  so,  very  humanely,  for  ei- 
ther to  win  or  lose,  you  are  much  sooner  relieved 
of  all  anxiety  than  by  the  older  operation. 

For  the  sake  of  the  uninformed,  who  had  bet- 
ter know  no  more  about  it  than  I  shall  tell  them,  I 
must  endeavour  to  describe  the  game  when  play- 
ed with  twenty-five  cards  only,  and  by  four  per- 
sons. 

The  aces  are  the  highest  denomination ;  then 
the  kings,  queens,  Jacks,  and  tens  ;  the  smaller 
cards  are  not  used ;  those  I  have  named  are  all 
dealt  out,  and  carefully  concealed  from  one  an- 
other; old  players  pack  them  in  their  hands,  and 
peep  at  them  as  if  they  were  afraid  to  trust  even 
themselves  to  look.  The  four  aces,  with  any 
other  card,  cannot  be  beat.  Four  kings,  with  an 
ace,  cannot  be  beat,  because  then  no  one  can 
have  four  aces;  and  four  queens,  or  Jacks,  or 
tens,  with  an  ace,  are  all  inferior  hands  to  the 
kings,  when  so  attended.  But  holding  the  cards 
I  have  instanced  seldom  occurs  when  they  are 
fairly  dealt;  and  three  aces,  for  example,  or  three 
kings,  with  any  two  of  the  other  cards,  or  four 
queens,  or  Jacks  or  tens,  is  called  a  full,  and 
with  an  ace,  though  not  invincible,  are  consider- 
ed very  good  bragging  hands.  The  dealer  makes 
the  game,  or  value  of  the  beginning  bet,  and 
called  the  ant i — in  this  instance  it  was  a  dollar — 
and  then  everybody  stakes  the  same  amount, 
and  says,  "I'm  up." 

It  was  a  foggy,  wretched  night.  Our  bell  was 
kept  tolling  to  warn  other  boats  of  our  where- 
about or  to  entreat  direction  to  a  landing  by  a 
fire  on  the  shore.  Suddenly  a  most  tremendous 
concussion,  as  if  all-powerful  Nature  had  shut 
his  hand  upon  us,  and  crushed  us  all  to  atoms, 
upset  our  cards  and  calculations,  and  a  general 
rush  was  made,  over  chairs  and  tables,  towards 
the  doors.  I  found  myself,  on  the  flash  of  re- 
turning thought,  with  my  dear  boy  in  my  em- 
brace, and  Fanny  Wright  sitting  very  affection- 
ately close  at  my  side,  with  her  eyes  wide  open, 
in  silent  astonishment,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Have 
you  any  idea  what  they  are  going  to  do  next?' 
and  her  book  still  in  her  hand.  The  cabin  was 
entirely  cleared,  or,  rather,  all  the  passengers 
were  huddled  together  at  the  entrances,  with  the 
exception  of  one  of  the  poker  players;  a  gentle- 
man in  green  spectacles,  a  gold  guard-chain,  long 
and  thick  enough  to  moor  a  dog,  and  a  brilliant 
diamond  breastpin:  he  was,  apparently,  quietly 
shuffling  and  cutting  the  poker-deck  for  his  own 
amusement.  In  less  time  than  I  am  telling  it, 
the  swarm  came  laughing  back,  with  broken 


sentences  of  what  they  thought  had  happened,  in 
which  snags,  sawyers,  bolts  bloicn  out,  and  boilers 
burst,  were  most  conspicuous.  But  all  the  harm 
the  fracas  caused  was  fright ;  the  boat,  in  round- 
ing to  a  wood-pile,  had  run  on  the  point  of  an 
island,  and  was  high  and  dry  among  the  first 
year's  growth  of  cotton-wood,  which  seems  u> 
guaranty  a  never-ending  supply  of  fuel  to  feed 
this  peculiar  navigation,  which  alone  can  com- 
bat with  the  unceasing,  serpentine,  tempestuous- 
current  of  the  I-will-havc-my-own-xeay,  glorious 
Mississippi. 

The  hubbub  formed  a  good  excuse  to  end  our 
game,  which  my  stupidity  had  made  desirable 
long  before,  and  I  took  a  chair  beside  the  poker- 
players,  who,  urged  by  the  gentleman  with  the 
diamond  pin,  again  resumed  their  seats.  It  was 
his  turn  to  deal,  and  when  he  ended,  he  did  not 
lift  his  cards,  but  sat  watching  quietly  the  coun- 
tenances of  the  others.  The  man  on  his  left 
hand  bet  ten  dollars;  a  young  lawyer,  son  to  the 
then  Mayor  of  Pittsburgh,  who  little  dreamed  of 
what  his  boy  was  about,  who  had  hardly  recov- 
ered his  shock,  bet  ten  more ;  at  that  time,  fortu- 
nately for  him,  he  was  unconscious  of  the  real 
value  of  his  hand,  and,  consequently,  did  not  be- 
tray by  his  manner,  as  greenhorns  mostly  do,  his 
certainty  of  winning.  My  chicken  friend"  bet  that 
ten  dollars  and  five  hundred  dollars  better ! 

"  I  must  see  that,"  said  Green  Spectacles,  who 
now  took  up  his  hand,  with  "lam  sure  to  win" 
trembling  at  his  fingers'  ends;  for  you  couldn't 
see  his  eyes  through  his  glasses:  he  paused  a  mo- 
ment in  disappointed  astonishment,  and  sighed 
"  I  pass,"  and  threw  his  cards  upon  the  table. 
The  left-hand  man  bet  "that  five  hundred  dollars 
and  one  thousand  dollars  better .'" 

The  young  lawyer,  who  had  had  time  to  cal- 
culate the  power  of  his  hand — four  kings  and  an 
ace — it  could  not  be  beat  I  but  still  he  hesitated  at 
the  impossibility,  as  if  he  thought  it  could — look- 
ed at  the  money  staked,  and  then  his  hand  again, 
and,  lingeringly,  put  his  wallet  on  the  table,  and 
called.  The  left-hand  man  had  four  queens,  with 
an  ace ;  and  Washington,  the  four  Jacks,  with  an 
ace. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  the  like  on't  1"  said  he, 
good-humouredly,  as  he  pushed  the  money  to- 
wards the  lawyer,  who,  very  agreeably  astonish- 
ed, pocketed  his  tico  thousand  and  twenty-three 
dollars  clear! 

The  truth  was,  the  cards  had  been  put  up,  or 
stocked,  as  it  is  called,  by  the  guard-chain-man 
while  the  party  were  off  their  guard,  or,  rather,  on 
the  guard  of  the  boat  in  the  fog,  inquiring  if  the 
boiler  had  burst ;  but  the  excitement  of  the  time 
had  caused  him  to  make  a  slight  mistake  in  the 
distribution  of  the  hand;  and  young  "Six-and- 
eight-pence"  got  the  one  he  had  intended  for  him- 
self. He  was  one  of  many  who  followed  card 
playing  for  a  living,  a  very  common  occupation 
at  that  time  in  that  section  of  the  country,  but 
not  properly  coming  under  the  denomination  of 
the  gentleman-sportsman,  who  alone  depends  on. 
his  superior  skill.  But  in  that  pursuit,  as  in  all 
others,  even  among  the  players,  some  black-sheep 
and  black-legs  will  creep  in,  as  in  the  present  in- 
stance. 

After  the  actors,  there  is  no  class  of  persons  so 
misrepresented  and  abused  behind  their  backs 
as  the  professional  gamblers,  as  they  are  called; 
especially  by  those  who  sit  down  to  bet  against 
them  every  night  without  their  wives  and  fam- 
ilies knowing  anything  about  it,  and  who  would 
think  it  most  praiseworthy  to  cheat  them  out  of 


PASSED  AMONG  THE  PLAYERS. 


95 


every  dollar  they  had,  if  they  knew  how.  As  in 
my  trade,  the  depraved  and  dishonourable  are 
selected  as  the  sample  of  all.  Bat  the  majority 
are  men  too  frequently  born  under  similar  cir- 
cumstances with  my  good-hearted  friend  Wash- 
ington, and  left  without  any  other  resource  but  the 
speed  of  a  horse,  or  the  courage  of  a  cock,  to  ob- 
tain wealth,  in  a  world  where  to  be  rich  is  con- 
sidered of  too  much  importance.  My  way  of 
life  has  for  years  thrown  me  much  in  their  soci- 
ety, in  steamboats  and  hotels,  and  as  a  general 
body,  for  kindness  of  heart,  liberality,  and  sin- 
cerity of  friendship — out  of  their  line  of  business — 
they  cannot  be  excelled  by  any  other  set  of  men 
who  make  making  money  their  only  mental  oc- 
cupation. 

And  now,  wicked  reader,  go  on  shore  with 
me  at  Natchez  "  under  the  hill,"  on  a  Sunday 
morning,  where  our  jovial  captain,  Tyson,  tied 
up  his  boat  for  the  day,  for  the  sake  of  his  pas- 
sengers' enjoying  a  spree.  He  was  of  the  race, 
which  miscalled  refinement  has  almost  made 
extinct,  who  would  take  the  grand  mogul  or  a 
giant  by  the  nape  of  his  neck  and  pitch  him 
overboard,  to  wriggle  a  minute  and  then  be  suck- 
ed under  the  Mississippi,  if  he  did  not  .behave 
himself;  and  take  a  poor  woman  and  her  babes 
as  passengers,  and  nurse,  feed,  blanket,  and 
physic  them  all  for  nothing,  and  provide  them 
with  employment,  or  put  money  in  their  pock- 
ets till  they  found  some  way  of  living,  all  in  the 
same  breath.  He  and  Captain  Shrieve  were 
selected  by  the  government  to  combat  with  the 
Red  River  Raft,  and  there  they  have  met  with 
their  match.  But,  now  I  think  of  it,  you  must 
be  tired  of  this  steamboat  trip,  so  we'll  pass 
Natchez  by,  and  land  at  New- Orleans. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"  Sister  of  joy  !  thou  art  the  child  who  wearest 
Thy  mother's  dying  smile,  tender  and  sweet  ; 
Thy  mother  Autumn,  for  whose  grave  thou  bearest 
Fresh  flowers,  and  beams  like  flowers,  with  gentle  feet, 
Disturbing  not  the  leaves  which  are  her  winding-sheet.'' 

Revolt  of  Islatn. 

Shelley's  beautiful  thought  applies,  in  its 
fullest  force,  to  New-Orleans,  even  in  Decem- 
ber; for  there  "  Winter's  savage  train"  is  literal- 
ly left  out  of  the  calendar,  and  a  long  summer 
meets  in  luxurious  greenness  an  early  spring. 

There  had  been  a  formidable  rise,  and  the 
river  was  in  all  its  glory ;  overtaking  the  up- 
rooted, "  unmanufactured  produce  of  the  forest," 
and  running  on  its  own-made  hill,  actually  above 
the  land  on  either  side,  which  gave  us  an  oppor- 
tunity, not  to  be  enjoyed  at  a  low  stage  of  water, 
of  viewing  the  magnificent  homesteads  of  the 
planters  on  the  coast. 

It  was  a  dark  and  drizzly  evening  when  we 
arrived  at  New-Orleans,  and  landed  at  the  foot 
of  Poydrass-street,  then  close  to  the  Levee,  and 
before  a  wharf  was  built  in  the  upper  faubourg, 
now  the  Second  Municipality,  and  parcel  of  the 
city.  Captain  Still,  a  harmless  teacher  of  mu- 
sic, but  who  had  been  an  actor,  and  honestly 
earned  his  warlike  title  by  being  so  often  adver- 
tised for  all  the  Captains,  "with  a  song,"  was  my 
conductor  to  the  Camp-street  Theatre.  At  the 
time  I  speak  of,  an  experienced  pilot,  with  a  lan- 
tern, could  scarcely  save  you,  in  rainy  weather, 
from  being  knee-deep  in  mud  in  wading  to  the 
Banquette,  then-only  curbed  by  the  old  timbers  of 
a  broken- up  flat-boat,  doomed  by  the  impedi- 


mental current  of  the  river  never  again  to  reach 
the  quiet  spot  where  it  was  launched, 

"Amid  the  obsolete  prolixity  of  trees." 

I  have  seen  two  mules  with  a  dray  sink  in  a 
mudhole,  in  the  now  well-paved  Camp-street, 
and  struggle  for  an  hour,  till  hauled  out  by  ropes, 
with  only  their  ears  and  noses  above  the  mire  to 
assure  you  they  were  there  ! 

The  enterprising,  great  Caldwell — "great  will 
I  call  him" — for  who  but  he,  chained  down  by  a 
profession  which  all  the  world  is  ever  willing 
to  degrade,  would,  or  could,  have  first  attempted 
to  raise  the  standard  of  the  American  drama  in 
the  outskirts  of  a  city  then  governed  by  the- 
refugees  of  France  and  Spain,  and  the  imme- 
diate inheritors  of  all  their  national  prejudices; 
and  speaking — that  apparently  insurmountable, 
obstacle  to  his  pursuit — a  different  language? 
But  he  was  undismayed,  and  built  the  brave  oUl 
Camp :  one  of  the  prettiest  of  theatres,  and  bet- 
ter adapted  to  that  peculiar  climate,  and  charac- 
ter of  the  theatrical  patrons,  than  any  I  have  ever 
seen.  Caldwell's  energies  were  not  alone  con- 
fined behind  the  scenes;  his  prophesying  was 
listened  to  by  the  wealthy  and  intelligent  Amer- 
icans, and  his  example  followed  in  buying  and 
improving  property  in  the  immediate  neighbour- 
hood ;  and  it  is  now  admitted  by  all  that  he  is  the 
actual  founder  of  the  Second  Municipality,  as  it 
is  called,  but  really  first  in  everything ;  its 
churches,  hotels,  squares,  and  well-paved,  expan- 
sive streets  leaving  the  old  city  "away  down 
the  river,"  literally  out  of  town.  With  his  own 
hard-earned,  handsome  fortune,  in  1836  he  rais- 
ed a  temple  to  the  drama  on  a  spot  where,  a  few- 
years  before,  a  swamp  had  been,  far  excelling 
in  extent  and  magnificence  any  building  of  the 
kind  on  this  continent,  and  comparing  with  ad- 
vantage with  any  in  the  older  world.  At  the 
time  I  speak  of  the  Camp  was  the  only  building 
in  the  city  lighted  with  gas,  manufactured  on 
the  premises,  and  superintended  by  an  intelli- 
gent Scotchman  named  Allen;  and  thus  prac- 
tically educated,  by  experimenting  with  an  ap- 
paratus not  much  larger  than  a  cooking-stove, 
Caldwell  ultimately  introduced  that  best  of  all 
police  to  the  whole  city,  and  became  the  presi- 
dent of  the  New-Orleans  Gas-light  and  Banking- 
Company.  The  destruction  of  the  "  Temple" 
by  fire  on  Sunday  evening,  the  13th  of  March, 
1842,  with  property  to  the  enormous  amount  of 
half  a  million  of  dollars,  prostrated,  in  all  prob- 
ability, his  dramatic  fortunes  forever.  But  his 
energetic  nature  is  still  unconsumed,  and,  as  an 
able  member  in  the  councils  of  his  adopted  city, 
he  still  promises  long  to  continue  to  witness  and 
aid  her  increasing  prosperity. 

Hamblin  I  found  just  concluding  an  engage- 
ment, at  the  termination  of  which  I  entered 
into  a  most  successful  one  for  "a  few  nights," 
which,  to  the  advantage  of  all  parties,  was  re- 
newed from  week  to  week,  till  the  "springtime 
of  the  year"  found  me  parting  with  regret  from 
a  host  of  new-found  friends.  The  company, 
taken  collectively,  was  the  best  by  far  on  the 
continent,  the  gentlemanly  though  austere  na- 
ture of  Caldwell  ensuring  to  all  kindred  spirits  a 
lasting  and  profitable  employ  under  his  liberal 
government.  Richard  Russell  was  his  acting 
manager,  with  whom  I  formed  a  friendship 
which  ended  with  my  paying  the  mournful  cere- 
mony of  holding  the  corner  of  his  pall.  Miss 
Placide,  Mrs.  Rowe  and  her  husband,  Hernizen, 
Field,  Old  Gray,  all,  too,  are  gone;  and  others, 


96 


THIRTY    YEARS 


which  any  eulogium  of  mine  to  their  memory 
would  but  painfully  disturb  the  slumbering  rec- 
ollections of  their  numerous  lamenting  friends. 

Mrs.  Russell  and  her  charming  daughter  are 
still  ornaments  to  the  stage,  the  widow  paying 
the  highest  tribute  of  respect  in  her  power  to  her 
husband's  memory,  by  still  retaining  his  name. 
The  daughter  married  my  worthy  friend,  George 
Percy  Farren,  and  she  is  now,  and  has  been  for 
some  years,  the  principal  attraction  of  Ludlow 
and  Smith's  company  ;  the  expression  of  sincere 
regret  at  her  yearly  departure  from  St.  Louis 
obliterated,  in  turn,  by  the  smiles  which  always- 
welcome  her  at  New-Orleans.  The  amiable  wom- 
an and  the  talented  actress  were  never  more 
happily  blended  than  when  nature  selected  her 
as  the  model  for  both.  Every  one  who  knows 
her  loves  her,  the  endearing  freshness  of  child- 
hood still  remaining  to  adorn  the  well-borne  du- 
ties of  the  wife  and  mother. 

It  was  my  intention  to  have  returned  to  the 
North  again  by  the  river,  and,  of  course,  I  gave 
the  Helen  M'Gregor  the  preference  as  a  convey- 
ance ;  but,  unfortunately,  or,  rather,  fortunately, 
I  missed  my  passage.  I  arrived  at  the  Levee 
with  my  dear  boy  and  baggage  just  five  minutes 
after  the  boat  had  started,  and  at  Memphis  her 
boiler  burst,  and  an  extraordinary  number  of 
passengers  were  blown  into  eternity  as  she 
shoved  off  from  the  landing.  "  It  had  been  so 
with  us,  had  we  been  there ;"  but  "  those  who 
are  born  to  be" — "  the  proverb  is  something  mustt/." 
And  in  the  good  little  ship  Talma,  Captain  Den- 
nis— who  now  sails  a  vessel  large  enough  to 
take  her  as  a  cabin  passenger — after  a  boisterous 
passage  of  twenty-eight  days,  we  arrived  at  New- 
York. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

"What  neetl'st  thou  run  so  many  miles  about, 
When  thou  may'st  tell  thy  tale  the  nearest  way  ?" 
Shakspeare's  Richard  III. 

My  then  "sweet  home"  was  at  Philadelphia, 
where  we  were  joyfully  welcomed  the  following 
day.  That  summer  poor  Charles  Gilfert  died, 
and  Hackett  and  Hamblin  became  the  lessees 
of  the  Bowery,  at  which  I  was  engaged.  But 
as  my  early  acquaintance,  Hamblin,  whom  I 
had  ever  considered  as  a  brother,  properly  ex- 
pressed it,  "  friendship  has  nothing  to  do  with 
business ;"  and  as  I  was  unreasonable  enough 
to  believe  that  it  should,  our  theatrical  connex- 
ions terminated  forever  at  the  end  of  three  nights. 

Russell  had  taken  the  Tremont  Theatre,  and 
t engaged  with  Caldwell  as  his  acting  manager 
at  New-Orleans  for  the  coming  season,  broke 
up  my  establishment  at  the  North,  as  we  South- 
ern gentlemem  call  all  places  where  the  ice 
grows,  determining  to  make  the  Far  West  my 
home  for  the  future. 

Willard  employed  me  to  conduct  the  Rich- 
mond Theatre  for  him  for  a  month,  where  Cald- 
well and  young  Kean  were  to  play  a  few  nights, 
on  their  way  to  New-Orleans;  and  that  job  end- 
ed, I  made  my  route  through  Virginia  over  the 
mountains,  by  the  way  of  Charlottesville  and 
the  Sulphur  Springs,  to  meet  the  Ohio  River 
once  more  at  Guyandotte. 

"  Memory,  the  bequest  of  the  past  to  the  pres- 
ent and  the  future,"  urges  me  to  linger  in  recol- 
lection of  this  most  wondrous  country;  but  it  is 
not  german  to  the  character  of  this  book  to  do 


so — that  is,  if  this  book  has  any  character  at  all — and 
I  must  therefore  pass  it  by,  as  other  travellers 
have  done,  for  I  know  of  none  who  have  ever 
noticed  it! 

That  year  I  bought  a  pretty  little  farm  of  one 
hundred  acres  in  Whitewater  township,  Ham- 
ilton county,  Ohio,  eighteen  miles  northwest 
from  Cincinnati,  and  seven  due  south  from  the 
estate  of  General  Harrison,  then  clerk  of  the 
County  Court ;  a  most  amiable  and  kind-heart- 
ed neighbour,  he  then  as  little  dreaming  as  I 
did  that  in  ten  years  from  that  time  he  would 
be  the  most  enthusiastically  popular  President 
of  the  United  States  ever  known,  "for  a  little, 
month."  What  a  queer  world  it  is !  He  might, 
in  all  probability,  have  lived  there  for  many 
years,  but  for  this  over-excitement  that  was 
heaped  upon  him,  honoured  as  the  defender  of 
his  country  in  her  determination  to  maintain  the 
position  she  had  achieved,  and  pointed  out  in 
his  calm  old  age  as  a  model  for  the  American 
farmer  in  the  peaceful  valley  of  the  Miami. 

To  compare  small  things  with  large,  I  meant, 
and  had  a  right  to  believe  then,  that  there  1  should 
pass  the  remainder  of  my  days,  making  my  pro- 
fession, during  the  winter  months,  a  profitable 
pastime.  But  it  was  not  to  be.  When  Caldwell 
built  his  Dramatie  Temple  in  1836, 1  once  more 
joined  his  standard  for  the  season,  and  was  hail- 
ed as  New-Orleans  knows  how  to  welcome  back 
a  favourite ;  but,  in  the  midst  of  our  splendid 
career,  I  was  unexpectedly  laid  on  a  bed  of  sick- 
ness for  four  long  months;  and  to  Doctor  Ca- 
rey, who  tended  my  flickering  chance  of  life 
with  all  the  devotedly  intense  anxiety  a  timid 
child  bestows  upon  an  almost  exhausted  taper, 
left  between  it  and  darkness,  I  am  indebted  for 
being  able  now  to  say,  I  here,  for  the  sake  of 
others,  throw  a  veil  of  oblivion  over  my  theat- 
rical life,  which  individually  I  should  wish  to 
lift.  For  what  gate  leading  through  life  is  so 
strongly  barred,  even  by  virtue  and  religion — 
putting  out  of  the  question  our  compelled  busi- 
ness in  the  world,  which  sometimes  leaves  it 
open — where  poverty,  disease,  and  death  does  not 
unhinge  the  doors,  and,  in  one  or  all  these 
shapes,  take  possession  of  our  chimney-corner, 
and  drown  in  unearned  wretchedness  the  bright- 
ness of  our  domestic  hearth!  I  have  endured 
the  tortures  of  all  these,  in  their  most  terrific  forms ; 
but  I  am  "one,  in  suffering  all,  that  suffers  no- 
thing" in  appearance ;  an  iron  constitution  has 
upheld  what,  in  a  fragile  one,  would  have  been 
sympathized  with  as  a  sensitive  mind;  and  my 
uncountable  number  of  friends  in  the  United 
States — I  shake  hands  with  twenty-five  thou- 
sand at  least  every  year — will  bear  me  out  in 
the  assertion,  that  during  the  varieties  of  fortune 
they  have  known  me  to  struggle  with,  "  Old  Joe 
Cowcll"  has  always  seemed  the  same.  But,  my 
dear  wicked  reader! — "so  must  I  call  you  now," 
for  we  should  by  this  time  be  on  very  familiar 
terms — I  have  not  achieved  this  boasted  reputa- 
tion from  apathy  for  the  miseries  I  have  endu- 
red :  no;  but  from  the  self-satisfactory  triumph 
between  myself  and  my  nature,  of  proving  my 
power  to  conceal  them.  And  I  have  often  gone 
to  a  theatre,  and  made  an  audience,  you  inclu- 
ded, "die  with  laughing,"  when  I  have  felt  my 
heart  broken  into  such  little  pieces,  that  I  have 
expected  to  see  the  fragments  leaking  out  through 
the  darns  in  the  funny  stockings  I  was  wearing 
for  Crack. 

The  nature  of  my  task,  as  I  have  already  ob- 
served, prevents  me  from  giving  even  a  sketch 


PASSED   AMONG    THE    PLAYERS. 


97 


•of  the  beautiful  "  Crescent  City,"  as  she  now  is; 
but  to  me  she  must  ever  be  most  dear,  as  the 
depository  of  one  unlettered  tomb,  on  which  I 
never 

"  Shall  have  length  of  days  enough 
To  ruin  upon  remembrance  with  mine  eyes." 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

'  It  is  time  to  close  what  I  have  to  say  of  myself;  one 
never  gets  anything  by  egotisms,  which  is  a  species  of  in- 
discretion that  the  public  hardly  ever  excuses,  even  when 
we  are  forced  upon  them."— J.  J.  Rousseau. 

From  the  little  experience  I  have  gained  while 
making  this  book,  I  firmly  believe  that  the  main 
difficulties  an  author  has  to  encounter,  in  any 
work  of  the  same  ephemeral  character,  is  to 
skilfully  arrange  a  beginning  and  an  end.  A 
well-chosen  text  often  entreats  listening  for  a 
prosing  sermon,  and  "many  a  dull  play  has 
been  saved  by  a  good  epilogue."  In  choosing  a 
book,  too,  of  this  class,  the  first  and  last  chapters 
are  all  that  are  ever  consulted;  and,  in  many 
instances,  all  that  are  ever  read.  But  I  am 
deprived  of  the  many  advantages  which  fiction 
could  so  easily  furnish,  to  dazzle  and  disarm 
criticism,  and  secure  applause  at  the  close  of 
this  performance,  in  consequence  of  being  tied 
down  by  a  plain,  matter-of-fact  narrative,  and 
must,  therefore,  against  my  will,  put  an  end  to 
my  theatrical  life,  in  the  same  uninteresting,  in- 
sipid manner  in  which  it  actually  occurred. 
The  remaining  chapters  will  therefore  contain 
as  brief  a  detail  as  possible  of  the  circumstances 
attending  my  last  engagement,  which  may  be 
considered  as  a  very  favourable  picture  of  the 
dramatic  world  as  it  now  exists  in  the  United 
States. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

"In  another  room  we  found  comedians  shut  up  for  having 
made  the  world  laugh.  Said  they,  '  If  by  chance  some 
equivocal  words  have  impressed  the  spectators  with  evil 
thoughts,  was  it  not  rather  their  fault  than  ours  V 

"  '  Oh  !'  said  the  devil  to  me,  '  if  they  had  done  no  more 
than  that,  they  should  scarcely  have  come  here  ;  but  think 
of  their  lost  time,  knaveries,  and  secret  crimes  !  No,  it  is 
not  the  comedy  which  damns  the  players  ;  it  is  what  passes 
behind  the  scenes.'  " — Quivedo's  Vision  of  Hell. 

After  the  destruction  of  the  St.  Charles,  John 
Greene  and  myself  took  a  lease  from  Caldwell  of 
the  Nashville  Theatre,  which  we  opened  in  April 
and  closed  in  July,  1842.  Our  company  was 
highly  creditable  on  and  off  the  stage,  and  we  re- 
alized all  we  expected  in  that  beautiful  little  city, 
with  the  exception  of  money.  Mr.  Buckstone  and 
Mrs.  Fitzwilliam  were  our  chief  attractions,  with 
the  single  exception  of  Martin  Van  Buren  ;  he 
very  kindly  visited  the  theatre  one  evening,  and 
it  was  filled  to  overflowing.  I  should  like  to 
have  engaged  him,  on  his  "own  terms"  for  the 
season.  But  Buckstone  and  the  joyous  Fanny 
were  not  so  successful ;  their  best  house  amount- 
ed to  two  hundred  and  eleven  dollars,  and  their 
worst  to  thirty-eight;  and  we  paid  them  half  the 
gross  proceeds ! ! 

The  American,  and  the  "Old  Camp,"  then 
used  as  an  auction  mart,  were  both  burned  down 
— by  design,  no  doubt — during  the  summer;  and 
every  effort  Caldwell  could  exert  to  restore  the 
Temple  had  totally  failed,  leaving  New-Orleans 
without  any  theatre  saving  the  French  Opera- 
house.  The  proprietors  at  length  agreed  to  re- 
H 


build  the  American,  which  was  offered  to  Cald- 
well and  accepted;  and  the  day  he  signed  the 
contract,  his  man  of  business,  worthy  George 
Holland,  sent  me  an  offer  in  his  name.  When 
I  arrived  in  New-Orleans,  in  October,  a  very 
few  minutes'  conversation  with  my  friend  Cald- 
well gave  me  reason  to  believe  it  would  be  more 
to  my  interest  to  take  an  engagement  for  the  win- 
ter at  Mobile,  if  at  that  late  period  I  could  obtain 
one.  The  next  morning  I  crossed  the  lake,  and 
succeeded.  The  theatre  there,  Caldwell,  who  is 
the  proprietor,  had  leased  for  the  season  to 
Messrs.  De  Vandel  and  Dumas.  The  former  is 
"president  pro  lem."  of  the  Gas  Company,  and  the 
latter  a  celebrated  restaurateur,  who,  having 
made  a  supposed  fortune  by  keeping  an  eating- 
house  and  opening  oysters,  thought  to  easily  in- 
crease it  by  opening  a  theatre.  Charles  Fisher, 
who  is  "secretary  to  the  Gas  Company,"  was  em- 
ployed by  the  "president  pro  tern."  to  select  the 
performers,  his  knowledge  and  experience  in 
theatrical  matters  being  as  notorious  as  that  he 
is  "  brotlier  to  the  celebrated  Clara  Fisher."  Now 
he  being  very  desirous  of  proving  his  friendship 
for  the  Jefferson  family,  engaged  all  the  imme- 
diate descendants  of  the  "  old  man"  now  alive, 
and  as  many  of  the  collateral  branches  as  were 
in  want  of  situations.  Mrs.  Richardson  had 
been  in  Mobile  the  season  before,  and  therefore 
she  was  the  nucleus  around  whom  was  clustered 
her  two  sisters  and  their  husbands,  Messrs.  Mac- 
kenzie and  "Wright ;  her  brother,  Mr.  Joseph. 
Jefferson,  and  his  two  very  clever  children,  and 
her  niece,  Mrs.  Germon,  and  the  good  man  who 
gave  her  that  name.  The  whole  company,  in 
consequence,  were  literally  in  the  family  way, 
with  the  exception  of  Jemmy  Thome  and  my- 
self, Mrs.  Stewart,  Morton,  and  Hodges  and  his 
lady ;  so  that  when  poor  Joe  Jefferson  died  of 
the  yellow  fever,  which  he  did  on  the  24th  of 
November,  the  theatre  had  to  be  closed  for  two 
nights,  for  without  the  assistance  of  the  chief 
mourners  we  could  not  make  a  performance. 
B)'-the-by,  it  should  have  been  said  before,  that 
the  "president  pro  tern."  had  backed  out,  and 
Jules  Dumas  became  the  "sole  lessee;"  but,  un- 
fortunately for  him,  the  "secretary"  had  made 
the  selection  before  he  or  his  stage-manager  had 
any  control. 

Dumas  was  a  Frenchman  born,  and,  while  a 
mere  child,  had  been  thrown  headlong  into  the 
world's  vortex,  and  had  struggled  round  and 
round  in  every  possible  capacity  where  shrewd- 
ness and  industry  were  all  the  capital  required, 
to  make  money,  till  at  last  he  got  a  little  out  of 
his  depth,  as  the  manager  of  the  Mobile  Thea- 
tre. His  dramatic  education  had  been  obtained 
by  being  employed  for  a  short  time  by  the  Rav- 
els, as  a  sort  of  prompter  and  interpreter,  and 
having  kept  the  saloons  with  great  success.  But 
even  in  the  intricate  conduct  of  a  theatre,  his  su- 
perior talent  for  finance  saved  him  from  the  pe- 
cuniary embarrassments  which,  in  all  probabil- 
ity, would  have  prostrated  an  American  or  an 
Englishman,  surrounded  by  the  same  encum- 
brances. Well  schooled,  by  saloon  experience,  in 
the  modern  propensities  of  dramatic  life  off  the 
stage,  immediately  opposite  the  theatre  he  had  a 
snug,  quiet,  well-appointed  drinking-roorn,  where 
backgammon,  dominoes,  and  other  inducements 
to  conviviality  might  be  comfortably  indulged 
in,  with  the  advantage  of  unlimited  credit  at  the 
bar.  And  behind  the  scenes,  contrary  to  the  usu- 
al fastidious  rules  in  most  well-regulated  estab- 
lishments, a  servant  was  ready  to  procure,  at  a 


98 


THIRTY   YEARS 


moment's  notice,  anything  required,  from  a  bot- 
tle of  Champagne  down  to  a  gin-cocktail.  Con- 
sequently, a  large  portion  of  each  salary — some- 
times all — was  paid  in  liquor  to  most  of  the 
gentlemen  {including  myself)  beforehand;  and 
the  balance,  if  any,  it  was  in  his  power  to  retain 
as  a  forfeit,  should  anyone  be  imprudent  enough 
to  take  a  drop  too  much.  And  by  this  very  in- 
genious, tariff-like  system,  each  actor  was  liable 
to  a  heavy  tax  upon  his  income,  without  feeling 
or  considering  that  he  was  putting  his  earnings 
again  into  the  pocket  of  the  manager. 

The  taste  and  moral  wants  of  the  audience 
were  quite  as  carefully  provided  for.  Next  to 
the  tavern  he  erected  a  spacious  assembly-room, 
where,  two  or  three  times  a  week,  as  policy  dic- 
tated, a  ball  was  given,  where  "ladies  that  have 
their  toes  unplagued  with  corns"  could  dance, 
and  drink  iced-punch,  and  sip  hot  coffee  free  of 
all  expense;  and  gentlemen  in  character  or  with- 
out character,  or  disguised  in  any  way,  even  in 
liquor,  or  in  "  happy  masks  that  kiss  fair  ladies' 
brows,"  by  paying  only  one  dollar  for  a  ticket, 
could  jig  away  a  harmless  night  to  the  ear-pier- 
cing noise  of  a  negro  band,  and  fancy  themselves 
in  heaven  or  Wapping,  Paris  or  a  lunatic  asy- 
lum, without  any  extra  charge.  It  was  a  glori- 
ous relaxation  from  the  perils  of  the  sea  and  toils 
of  cotton  sampling  for  the  jolly  Yankee  captains 
and  honest  deacons'  sons,  whose  early  days  had 
passed  unknowing  such  enjoyments.  The  mas- 
ter of  the  ceremonies  was  a  sleek-haired  down- 
easter,  from  some  place  "  where  the  sun  rises" — he 
was  a  delicious  character  —  a  study  for  Dan 
Marble  —  he  looked  so  particularly  out  of  his 
natural  element,  dancing  in  his  hat — I  mean, 
with  his  hat  on — his  coat  out  at  elbows,  and  a 
large  diamond  breastpin.  It  was  a  delightful 
place  for  fun  or  philosophy.  I  had  a  free  ad- 
mission, and  was  there  every  night. 

Hodges,  one  of  the  very  best  educated  tenor 
singers  on  the  continent,  but  too  lazy  to  assert 
the  fact,  had,  from  some  cause  or  other,  been  ap- 
pointed by  Dumas  stage-manager,  an  office 
which  nature,  habit,  and  inexperience  rendered 
him  more  unfit  to  sustain  than  any  other  man  of 
the  same  high  respectability  in  the  Union.  He 
said  to  me,  seriously,  and  in  a  business-like  man- 
ner, one  night,  in  the  office, 

"  Cowell,  have  you  ever  played  the  comic  part 
in  the  Apostate?" 

Of  course  I  said,  "Yes,  often.  But  there  are 
two  comic  parts,"  said  I,  "  Pescara  and  Malec. 
Now  if  Thorne  will  do  one,  I'll  do  the  other." 

Unfortunately,  the  stars — Kirby  and  Jones — 
had  named  these  characters  for  themselves,  or  I 
believe  he  would  have  cast  the  play  as  I  dictated. 
Whatever  talent  his  good  lady  possessed,  was 
entirely  obscured  by  her  transcendent  personal 
charms  —  the  beautiful  Miss  Nelson  will  no 
doubt  be  recollected,  as  the  "divine  perfection 
of  a  woman"  who  played  with  some  success  du- 
ring Fawcett's  stage-management  at  Covent  Gar- 
den. Now  this  lady,  and  Mrs.  Stewart,  and  Mrs. 
Richardson,  were  all  engaged  for  the  same  line 
of  business.  Mrs.  Stewart  and  Mrs.  Richardson 
were  both  powerful  favourites  with  the  audience, 
and  the  stage-manager  very  naturally  believed 
his  wife  was  a  much  better  actress  than  either 
of  them,  and,  by  placing  her  continually  and  fa- 
vourably before  the  public,  hoped,  in  lime,  to  get 
them  to  think  as  he  did;  but  she  couldn't  play 
everything ;  Mrs.  Richardson  was,  therefore, 
kept  full  in  sight,  but  Mrs.  Stewart  was  scarcely 
seen  or  heard  of,    Dumas  was  easily  convinced 


of  the  folly  of  paying  three  ladies  for  doing  what 
two  were  made  sufficient  to  perform,  and  deter- 
mined to  get  rid  of  one  of  them;  but,  unfortu- 
nately, made  an  imprudent  selection. 

A  long  part  was  sent  to  Mrs.  Stewart,  which, 
as  was  expected,  she  refused,  or  said  she 
couldn't  learn  in  the  short  time  required,  and  a 
forfeit  of  a  week's  salary  was  the  consequence; 
which,  being  resisted,  ended  in  a  discharge.  She 
sued  for  the  amount,  and  gained  her  suit:  the 
next  week  the  same  course  was  repeated,  with 
the  same  result.  It  was  then  agreed,  mutually,, 
to  have  the  matter  settled  by  arbitration.  Some 
gentlemen  of  high  standing  were  chosen  on  both 
sides ;  and  they  decided  in  favour  of  the  lady, 
awarding  her  her  salary  and  a  benefit,  according 
to  the  contract,  which,  they  agreed,  had  not  been 
violated  on  her  part;  but  with  this  verdict  Du- 
mas very  impolitically  refused  to  comply. 

Mrs.  Stewart,  though  not  actually  bom  in  Mo- 
bile— very  few  people  are  born  in  Moble  who 
can  possibly  avoid  it  —  was,  from  a  residence 
there  since  childhood,  held  in  the  respect  of  a 
most  estimable  citizen.  The  regard  demanded 
by  her  exemplary  conduct  as  a  daughter,  wife, 
and  mother,  perhaps,  might  cause  her  actual  tal- 
ent to  be  a  little  overrated;  but  on  the  honest, 
unmolested  exercise  of  that  talent  depended,  not 
only  her  own  support — now  a  widow — but  that 
of  an  aged  parent  and  her  two  orphan  children  j 
the  course  Dumas  had  pursued  was,  therefore, 
justly  considered  an  insult  to  public  opinion,  in 
selecting,  as  a  victim  to  his  un theatrical  arrange- 
ments, a  lady  so  conspicuously  entitled  to  moral 
consideration  and  support.  A  most  delicious 
row  was  the  consequence ;  and  it  so  fell  out,  that 
it  occurred  on  the  very  night  that  Hackett  had 
advertised  that  he  would  prove  to  the  whole  crit- 
ical world — or,  at  any  rate,  as  large  a  portion  of 
it  as  might  be  found  in  Mobile — that  Kcan  knew 
nothing  at  all  about  the  character  of  Richard  the 
Third,  and  Cook  but  very  little  ;  but  that  he, 
after  long  study  and  research,  had  arrived  at  the 
genuine,  historical,  and  Shaksperian  meaning  of 
the  part,  and,  on  that  occasion,  would  so  deline- 
ate it. 

The  house  was  filled  as  soon  as  the  doors 
were  opened,  for  most  of  the  audience  rushed  in 
without  paying,  made  a  prodigious  noise,  broke 
some  benches  and  gas-fixings,  and  demanded  a 
free  benefit  for  Mrs.  Stewart,  and  the  whole  of  her 
salunj  to  be  paid  for  the  ten  weeks — the  period  of 
her  engagement— all  which  Dumas  was  obliged 
to  agree  to.  The  mayor  made  a  speech,  and  the 
row  was  over;  and  Hackett  was  left  to  deliver 
himself  of  his  great  conception.  Under  the  cir- 
cumstances, a  fair  judgment  couldn't  be  formed. 
The  little  I  saw  of  it  I  thought  was  very  odd, 
and  very  original,  and  reminded  me  very  much 
of  his  unique  manner  of  performing  Rip  Van 
Winkle. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

"  The  best  thing-  in  him 
Is  his  complexion  ;  and  faster  than  his  tongue 
Did  give  offence,  his  eye  did  heal  it  up. 
He  is  not  tall,  yet  for  his  years  he's  tall ; 
His  leg  is  but  so  so,  and  yet  'tis  well ; 
There  was  a  pretty  redness  in  his  lip, 
A  little  riper  and  more  lusty  red 

Than  that  mix'd  in  his  cheek  ;  'twas  but  the  difference 
Between  the  constant  red  and  mingled  damask." 

As  You  Like  It. 

Hackett  may  be  more  properly  called  a  suc- 
cessful dramatic  merchant  than  an  actor.    He 


PASSED    AMONG    THE    PLAYERS. 


99 


started  in  business  with  a  very  small  lot  of  goods, 
to  be  sure,  but  their  variety  was  suitable  to  many 
markets;  and,  with  great  tact  and  shrewdness,  he 
made  everybody  believe  they  could  not  be  ob- 
tained at  any  other  shop. 

Rochefoucault  says,  "The  only  good  copies 
are  those  which  expose  the  ridiculousness  of  bad 
originals."  But,  be  that  as  it  may,  with  an  im- 
itation of  poor  old  Barnes  that  amounted  to  iden- 
tity, he  made 

"  The  two  Droraios  one  in 'semblance," 

and  gained,  without  farther  study  or  struggle,  a 
reputation,  which  many,  with  industry  and  tal- 
ent, have  wasted  a  lifetime  in  endeavouring  to 
attain.  His  profits  were  enormous.  Barnes 
went  with  him  everywhere,  caricaturing  him- 
self, to  increase  the  effect.  When  this  attraction 
began  to  flag,  who  but  Hackett  would  have 
thought  of  using  Colman's  excellent  but  seldom- 
acted  play  of  "  Who  wants  a  Guinea  1"  as  a  ve- 
hicle tor  introducing  such  a  sketch  of  humanity 
as  Solomon  Swap  1  And  though  whittling  a 
stick  and  cheating  a  man  out  of  a  watch  are  not 
very  complimentary  characteristics  to  select  for 
a  Yankee  portrait,  they  were  highly  relished  by 
the  audience,  from  being  better  understood  than 
Solomon  Gundy's  unpractical  jokes  and  broken 
French.  Hill  and  Marble  put  in  their  very  su- 
perior claims  to  delineations  of  that  description, 
which  interfered  greatly  with  the  original  invent- 
or ;  but  Hackett  had  an  unapproachable  re- 
source in  his  ancestral  dialect,  and  in  Rip  Van 
Winkle  he  could  securely  say,  "  You  can't  come 
it,  judge !" 

When  Kean  was  driven  from  the  stage,  reek- 
ing with  criminality  in  public  opinion,  Hackett 
undertook  to  play  Richard  the  Third  in  imitation 
of  him,  the  high  reputation  he  had  gained  as  a 
mimic  giving  warranty  of  a  skilful  likeness. 
Now  here  was  an  excellent  opportunity  given  to 
the  curiously  virtuous  to  admire  the  secondhand 
mental  beauties  of  Kean,  portrayed  by  a  gentle- 
man of  unquestionable  private  worth  and  moral 
deportment,  without  having  their  nicer  feelings 
shocked  by  the  actual  presence  of  the  depraved 
original.  This  must  be  admitted  to  have  been 
a  clear-headed  mercantile  conception,  but,  strange 
to  say,  it  didn't  answer.  I  so  advertised  him  at 
Baltimore  sixteen  years  ago ;  but  it  failed  to 
attract  a  house,  in  the  first  place,  and  the  larger 
portion  of  those  who  did  come  went  away  before 
the  exhibition  was  half  over.  In  fact,  Hackett, 
from  the  first,  looked  upon  the  drama  as  an  easy 
means  of  acquiring  wealth  with  very  scanty 
materials,  if  properly  managed,  and  he  has  real- 
ized the  justness  of  his  calculation.  He  still 
holds  a  high  place  in  dramatic  estimation ;  though 
he  thought  it  necessary,  the  winter  before  the 
last,  at  New-Orleans,  to  rouse  up  public  atten- 
tion by  a  long  ancestral  and  heraldic  expose, 
which  occupied  half  the  columns  of  a  short-lived 
newspaper  there,  to  prove  that,  though  he  con- 
descended to  conduct  himself  like  a  plain,  hon- 
est, well-disposed  Republican  player,  he  was,  for 
all  that,  a  real  baron!  And  I'll  bear  witness  that 
"that  is  a  fact;"  for  some  six  years  ago,  in  order 
to  remove  the  possibility  of  any  doubt  or  quib- 
ble on  the  subject  that  might  arise  hereafter,  he 
actually  imported  his  ancestor,  with  the  title,  and 
Dutch  dialect — a  most  gentlemanly  man,  and  a 
very  ingenious  gunsmith,  with  red  and  white 
mustache.  He  died  of  the  yellow  fever,  and  was 
buried  at  New-Orleans  in  the'  summer  of  1839 
or  1840,  and  therefore  Hackett  is  now  the  last  of 


the  barons  of  that  ilk,  Bulwer's  novel  to  the  con- 
trary notwithstanding.  By-the-by,  Hackett,  if 
you  have  not  read  the  book  I  allude  to,  do;  you 
will  find  an  excellent  hint  for  a  new  conception 
of  Richard  there. 

Connor  was  another  star :  a  very  gentleman- 
like specimen  of  well-dressed  mediocrity ;  not 
good  enough  in  anything  to  be  bad  by  compari- 
son icilh  himself  in  anything.  He  possesses  an 
excellent  wardrobe,  and  knows  so  well  how  to 
use  it,  that,  in  consequence,  he  often  looks  the 
character  he  intends  to  represent  so  excellently, 
that  I  have  frequently  felt  sorry  he  was  obliged 
to  say  anything  about  it.  Richelieu  is  one  of 
the  parts  I  allude  to.  I  am  told  he  plays  it  in 
imitation  of  Forrest;  but  I  can't  believe  it;  he 
reminds  me  very  strongly  of  Blanchard,  of  the 
Coburgh's  manner  of  tottering  about  after  he 
was  changed,  by  a  slap  of  Harlequin's  bat,  to  the 
"lean  and  slippered  Pantaloon." 

Connor  has  his  ancestors  too.  Some  few  years 
since,  at  St.  Louis,  the  papers  made  it  to  be  un- 
derstood that  he  had  great  expectancies  from  a 
rich  uncle.  They  didn't  say  if  the  old  gentleman 
was  a  baron  or  not,  but  went  on  to  explain  that 
the  nephew  considered  emolument  a  secondary 
matter,  and  was  merely  acting  for  his  own 
amusement :  an  excellent  way,  by-the-by,  of  ac- 
counting for  his  style.  It  took.  He  got  great 
applause,  and  was  driven  about  and  drenched 
with  Champagne  by  all  the  first  young  dry- goods 
and  grocery  men  in  the  city — they  have  all  ta- 
ken the  benefit  of  the  Bankrupt  Act  since — and 
they  made  him  a  great  house.  But  on  his  re- 
turn, a  few  months  afterward,  the  same  paper, 
by  way  of  variety,  I  imagine,  hinted  at  "pecuni- 
ary embarrassments,"  "  domestic  claims  on  his  in- 
come," "  disappointments :"  his  uncle  wouldn't  die, 
I  suppose;  or  else  he  had,  "and  made  no  sign" 
in  his  favour ;  in  short,  the  truth  leaked  out  that 
he  was  "an  honest,  exceeding  poor  man,"  and 
could  lay  claim  to  the  negative  virtue  of  sup- 
porting an  aged  mother ;  and  the  corks  ceased  to 
pop,  and  the  benefit  was  a  comparative  failure. 

To  secure  a  bumper  this  time  (in  Mobile),  it 
was  advertised  that  a  splendid  silver  cup  would  be 
presented  to  him  by  a  committee  of  gentlemen,  who  had 
long  admired  his  public  virtue  and  private  talent. 

It  answered  so  well,  that  on  my  night  I  got  a 
committee  of  gentlemen  to  take  a  fancy  to  my 
public  and  private  virtue,  and  present  me  with  a 
splendid  tin  cup.  Connor  had  the  best  house; 
but  when  it  is  taken  into  consideration  that  his 
silver  cup  must  have  cost  from  eight  to  ten  dol- 
lars, and  I  only  gave  six  bits  for  my  tin  pot,  I 
guess,  in  the  end,  we  were  about  even. 

Mrs.  Sefton,  the  very  best  general  actress  on 
the  continent,  adorned  the  theatre  through  a  long 
engagement;  and  Miss  Mary  Anne  Lee,  "the 
celebrated  American  danseuse"  and  Joe  Field,  with 
some  pleasant  new  farces,  proved  a  refreshing 
relief.  The  audience  were  in  ecstasies  at  her 
attainments,  and  the  press  declared  she  was 
quite  equal  to  Ellsler.  I  am  no  judge  of  dan- 
cing, and  I  never  saw  Ellsler ;  but  I  hope  it's  the 
fact;  for  her  father  was  a  worthy  creature,  and 
a  great  favourite  of  mine,  and  I  have  known  her 
to  be  a  very  good  little  girl  ever  since  she  was 
dancing  in  her  mother's  arms,  and  I  am  oldfash- 
ioned  enough  to  have  a  strong  prejudice  in  fa- 
vour of  old  acquaintances. 

Dan.  Marble,  that  most  irresistibly  comic  soul, 
came  with  his  bundle  of  fun.  He  possesses  that 
extraordinary  arbitrary  power  of  making  you 
laugh  whether  you  like  it  or  not :  no  matter  if 


100 


THIRTY  YEARS 


you  have  the  toothache,  the  headache,  or  the 
heartache;  the  cool,  quiet,  deliberate  nonsense,  if 
you  please,  with  which  he  surrounds  you,  as  if  he 
didn't  mean  to  do  it,  would  make  you  laugh  at 
a  funeral.  In  my  opinion,  he  is  a  much  supe- 
rior actor  than  he  himself,  or  the  public  in  gen- 
eral, believe  him  to  be.  It  is  an  abstract  portion 
of  nature,  to  be  sure  ;  but  so  perfect,  so  pure,  that 
if  you  are  not  even  acquainted  with  the  source 
from  whence  the  picture  is  drawn,  you  can  swear 
that  it  is  a  likeness.  The  pieces  which  he  car- 
ries on  his  shoulders  are  generally  sad  trash; 
but  if  he  could  get  Buckstone,  or  some  of  these 
dramatic  tacticians,  to  prepare  two  or  three  for 
him,  and  go  to  London,  if  he  did  not  make  a  pow- 
erful impression,  I  will  resign  all  claim  to  ad- 
judgment in  such  matters. 

The  management,  no  doubt,  must  have  looked 
at  some  future  point  of  policy  when  they  enga- 
ged Ludlow  and  Smith  as  stars  at  Mobile!  Not 
both  together;  that  would  have  been  too  much 
to  expect ;  neither  do  they  shine  to  advantage  in 
the  same  sphere.  They  each  have  a  favourite 
round  of  characters ;  but,  strange  to  say,  very 
nearly  the  same  round  of  characters  are  the  fa- 
vourites with  each.  In  their  own  theatres,  this 
is  very  amicably  arranged  between  them.  In 
the  first  place,  Sol.  Smith  has  given  up  the  en- 
tire range  of  high  tragedy  to  Ludlow,  with  the 
exceptions  of  Hecate  and  the  High-priest  in 
Pizzaro  ;  he  also  retains  The  Three  Singles,  an- 
other bit  of  tragedy;  but.  as  a  set-off,  Ludlow  is 
permitted  to  play  Baron  Willinghurst,  which  he 
makes  equally  melancholy,  six  or  eight  times  in 
every  season ;  and  as  he  has  to  keep  looking  like 
Ludlow,  and  change  his  dress  seven  times,  it  may 
be  justly  considered  a  fair  equivalent.  Puff,  in 
the  "Critic,"  they  do  turn  and  turn  about.  Sol. 
plays  Darby,  and  Ludlow,  Nipperkin  ;  and  they 
both  amuse  themselves  with  the  Lying  Valet  oc- 
casionally. Now  Smith  came  first ;  and,  not  sat- 
isfied with  playing  all  his  own  pets,  took  a  touch 
at  one  of  his  partner's,  Frederic  Baron  Willing- 
hurst. I  don't  want  to  kick  up  a  row  between 
them,  but  I  decidedly  think  myself  it  was  taking 
rather  an  unfair  advantage  of  Ludlow.  They 
are  both  remarkably  good-looking  men ;  but  Lud- 
low, as  the  saying  is,  is  no  chicken,  and  though 
he  is  most  abstemious  in  his  habits,  particularly 
in  eating,  he  is  getting  a  little  clumsy  for  light 
comedy,  especially  about  the  legs.  What  a 
change  a  few  years  will  make  in  a  man!  I  re- 
member him  a  perfect  he-sylph  in  appearance. 
Now  Smith  still  retains  his  figure,  and  the  same 
fine,  frank,  joyous,  elegant,  yet  playful  deport- 
ment that  he  ever  had.  But,  then,  he  is  extreme- 
ly particular  about  his  personal  appearance  on 
or  off  the  stage.  I  don't  believe  he  either  pads 
or  laces,  but  he  might  be  suspected  of  doing  both; 
proud  of  his  hair,  his  nails — I  mean  his  finger- 
nails— and  when  he  laughs,  you  can  count  ev- 
ery tooth  he  has  in  his  head.  Now,  knowing  his 
superior  advantage  over  Ludlow,  and  that  his 
engagement  would  commence  immediately  after 
his  was  concluded,  and  that  Ludlow  must  play 
Baron  Willinghurst  or  die,  his  forestalling  him  in 
that  part,  I  say  it  again,  was  very  unkind.  Of 
course,  1  did  not  see  Smith  play  the  Baron;  but 
I  saw  him  dressed  for  the  first  scene.  His  coat 
was  a  little  too  short  in  the  sleeves,  to  be  sure; 
but  that  could  not  be  said  of  the  tail ;  and  it  was 
very  Revolutionary  in  its  general  character; 
white  trousers,  which  had  been  badly  packed;  a 
very  suspicious-looking  hat ;  and  a  pair  of  high- 
lows  without  strings. 


Well,  as  arranged  by  the  sapient  manage- 
ment, Ludlow  followed,  with  the  Lying  Valet, 
Doctor  Pangloss,  She  Stoops  to  Conquer,  cut 
down  to  the  Humours  of  Young  Marlow ;  Nipper- 
kin,  the  Duke  in  the  Honeymoon;  and  on  my 
benefit  night  he  requested  me  to  let  him  play 
Baron  Willinghurst,  and,  as  I  wanted  something 
to  give  time  for  me  to  change  my  dress,  I  con- 
sented, but  suggested  that  any  of  his  other  farce 
parts  would  be  better,  as  Smith  had  already 
played  the  Baron. 

"  Smith  played  the  Baron !"  said  he.  "  Psh-a- 
a-a-w !" 

I  wish  I  could  write  down  his  face  at  that 
moment. 

"  Smith  played  the  Baron !  Pshaw  !"  and  he 
looked  as  if  he  had  swallowed  a  bad  oyster. 
"  Smith  played  it"?  Then  that's  the  very  reason 
why  I  wish  to  do  it  myself." 

And  I  hadn't  the  heart  to  refuse  him,  though 
I  knew  it  would  keep  money  out  of  the  house. 

Young  Vandenhoff,  an  infinitely  better  actor 
than  his  father  was  at  the  same  age,  played  to 
empty  benches  for  a  few  nights;  and  Sinclair 
was  mixed  up  with  Sol.  Smith,  so  that  it  was 
hard  to  tell  who  kept  the  money  out  of  the  house, 
but  he  proved  to  the  few  who  did  hear  him  the 
feeble  power  Time,  in  his  case,  has  had  over 

"  Linked  sweetness  long  drawn  out." 

But  the  great  incident  of  the  season  was  the 
first  appearance,  on  any  stage,  of  Mr.  Charles 
Fisher,  in  the  character  of  Dazzle,  in  London 
Assurance.  Gifted  with  a  refined  taste  and 
great  literary  acquirements,  and  his  whole  life 
having  been  passed  in  intimate  association  with 
theatricals,  it  was  unthinkingly  supposed,  in 
consequence,  that  he  would  present  a  more  than 
usually  brilliant  display  of  histrionic  talent.  A 
large  audience  was  assembled  on  the  occasion, 
but  not  so  large  as  might  have  been  expected 
tinder  the  circumstances,  when,  in  addition  to 
the  high  claims  on  public  favour  of  the  fair  ben- 
eficiary, for  whom  he  had  gallantly  volunteered 
his  services,  it  is  remembered  that  Mr.  Fisher 
has  been  a  resident  of  Mobile  for  some  years,, 
both  summer  and  winter,  and  universally  known 
and  respected.  In  proof  of  his  great  popularity, 
among  other  honorary  distinctions  may  be  named, 
that  he  is  a  Mason,  Odd  Fellow,  corresponding 
secretary  for  the  Jockey  Club,  full  private  in  the 
volunteer  artillery,  a  fireman,  a  cowbellian,  the 
founder,  and  a  member  for  life  of  the  Can'l-get- 
away  Club,  and,  as  I  have  before  stated,  making 
a  living  as  secretary  to  the  Gas  Company.  Now 
all  this  should,  at  any  rate,  have  produced  a  full 
house,  but  it  did  not.  I  staked  half  an  eagle  to 
a  sovereign  with  Joe  Field,  that  there  would  be 
six  hundred  dollars,  and  I  lost  my  American 
gold. 

Suffering  from  great  nervous  embarrassment, 
and  his  natural  timidity  increased  by  the  knowl- 
edge of  how  much  was  expected  of  him  by  the 
overwrought  anticipations  of  his  friends,  who 
had  long  looked  up  to  him  as  the  sole  dramatic 
oracle  for  the  State  of  Alabama,  he  became  per- 
fectly bewildered,  and  certainly  did  make  a  sad 
mess  of  poor  Dazzle.  No  allowance  was  made  for 
stage  fright.  A  highly-finished,  experienced  per- 
formance was  fully  expected  from  a  critic 

"Whose  lash  was  torture,  and  whose  praise  was  fame  ;" 

and  his  devotees  were  actually  angry  with  him 
because  he  was  not  himself  ail  that  he  had  ex- 
plained to  them,  in  print  and  private,  a  good 
player  ought  to  be.    But  I  see  no  reason  why  he. 


PASSED    AMONG    THE   PLAYERS. 


101 


might  not,  with  a  little  practice,  make  a  star  at 
any  rate,  if  he  wouldn't  answer  tor  a  regular  ac- 
tor. He  has  excellent  requisites  for  the  kind  of 
parts  which  assimilate  with  that  he  made  choice 
of  for  his  dibut.  An  immense  point  in  his  favour 
is  his  extremely  youthful  appearance,  for  which 
he  is  chielly  indebted  to  his  hue  pink  complexion, 
resembling  the  Jack  of  Hearts;  with  the  same 
large,  soft,  washed-out-blue-looking  eye,  and  not 
unlike  him  in  figure  when  dressed  in  regiment- 
als, if  Jack  wore  a  bustle.  When  diamonds  are 
trumps  at  a  game  at  uker,  I  always  think  of  Char- 
ley, if  I  happen  to  have  the  left  botuer  guarded. 

A  Mr.  Kirby,  and  Mr.  G.  W.  Jones,  "  the  cel- 
ebrated delineator  of  American  sailors,"  two  more 
stars,  twinkled  through  a  week  or  two;  but  if  I 
was  to  devote  a  page  in  giving  a  description  of 
their  talent,  it  is  probable  by  the  time  that  page 
is  in  print  they  will  have  ceased  to  shine,  and 
the  reader  would  then  wonder  who  I  was  talking 
about. 

A  strong  Frenchman — /  ivon't  remember  his 
name — proved  the  strongest  attraction  of  the  sea- 
son. His  benefit  was  an  overflow  !  while  poor 
John  Barton,  the  Shaksperian  scholar,  the  in- 
nocently eccentric  companion  for  a  gentleman, 
whose  talent,  wrestling  with  infirmity,  claimed 
the  respect  his  private  worth  demanded  from 
all  who  knew  him,  took,  no  doubt,  his  farewell 
forever  of  an  American  audience,  and  lost  money 
by  his  ! 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

Any  scrap  of  Locke's  poetical  description  of  modem  dis- 
coveries in  the  moon,  which  may  live  in  the  memory  of  the 
reader,  will  be  very  applicable  to  the  subject  most  promi- 
nent in  this  chapter.— The  Author. 

All  the  engagements  terminated  at  the  end  of 
twenty  weeks,  which  closed  the  season ;  but  a 
few  members  of  the  company  with  small  sala- 
ries, who  could  afford  to  accept  one  third,  or 
even  half  of  their  former  income,  or,  to  speak 
plainly,  who  could  not  afford  to  go  without  any 
income  at  all,  commenced  a  new  campaign  un- 
der the  management  of  Mrs.  Richardson,  instead 
of  Mr.  Hodges.  Madame  Vestris,  I  believe, 
was  the  first  to  set  this  fashion  of  petticoat  gov- 
ernment, which  has  been  followed,  with  various 
claims  to  popularity  in  this  country,  by  Miss 
Cushman,  Miss  Maywood,  Miss  Virginia  Mo- 
nier,  Miss  Clarendon,  Mrs.  Sefton,  and  now 
Mrs.  Richardson,  I  am  grieved  to  say,  lent  her 
name  to  eke  out  the  very  small  demands  on 
public  favour  of  only  half  a  company,  only  half 
paid. 

I  had  a  right  to  a  benefit  during  the  twenty 
weeks,  but  the  season  had  been  so  monopolized 
by  sometimes  two  and  three  stars  at  a  time,  that 
I  had  to  continue  a  week  longer  for  a  vacant 
night,  and  as  in  all  probability  I  made  my  last 
appearance  on  that  occasion,  I'll  reprint  the  bill. 

"MOBILE  THEATRE, 

Under  the  management  of  Mrs.  Richardson. 

FAREWELL  BENEFIT 

OF 

Mr.   JOE    COWELL, 

Prior  to  his  departure  for  some  place,  but  where, 
He  don't  know,  nor  will  anybody  care. 

At  the  close  of  the  performance,  of  course 
Mr.  Cowell  will  be  called  out,  but  if  not,  he  will 
go  out,  and  have  a  splendid  wreath  thrown  to  him 


from  a  corner  of  the  second  tier,  and  be  address- 
ed from  the  stage-box  by  one  of  a  committee  of 
gentlemen  who  have  long  admired  his  private 
worth  and  public  services,  and  be  presented  with 
An  elegant  Tin  Cup ; 

to  which  he  will  make  an  extemporaneous  reply, 
prepared  for  the  occasion,  after  the  manner  of  oth- 
er distinguished  artists. 

Among  the  many  luxuries  that  could  be  na- 
med for  both  mind  and  body,  such  as  old  wine, 
old  books,  and  old  boots,  might  be  mentioned  old 
plays;  but  old  Joe  Cowell  being  desirous  to 
please  everybody,  though  he  may  lose  his  ass  into 
the  bargain,  has  made  a  selection  of  one  about 
his  own  age ;  two,  born  within  his  recollection, 
and  another  that  never  saw  "the  light  of  other 
days"  till  now,  called 

Joe  Short. 
Now  Joe  Cowell  having  the  Assurance — not 
London  —  but  of  many  friends,  that  they  in- 
tend to  Meddle  in  his  favour  on  this  occasion, 
begs  in  a  Courtley  manner  not  to  Dazzle,  but  in- 
form the  public  that  his  benefit  will  take  place 
on  Friday  evening,  April  7th,  1843,  when  he 
hopes  it  will  not  be  considered  Pert  his  recom- 
mending the  patrons  of  the  drama  to  keep  Cool 
and  Harkaway  to  the  theatre,  and  have  the  Grace 
to  give  him  a  Spanker. 

The  performance  will  commence  with  the  first 
and  second  acts  of 

LONDON  ASSURANCE. 

Sir  Harcourt  Courtley  -  Mr.  Bridges. 

Dazzle Mr.  Ludlow. 

Meddle Mr.  Cowell. 

Max  Harkaway  -    -    -  Mr.  Germon. 

Charles  Courtley      -    -  Mr.  Morton. 

Grace  Harkaway     -    -  Mrs.  Mackenzie. 

Pert Mrs.  Germon. 


After  which, 

Not  a  Star,  but  a  real  Comet, 

from  somewheres  so  far  away  down  east  that 

his  childhood  was  passed  in  breaking  day  with 

brickbats,  will  appear  and  sing 

The  Pizen  Sarpient. 


By  particular  desire, 

OF  AGE  TO-MORROW. 

In  which  Mr.  Ludlow  will  personate 
Seven  Characters ! !  — 

Maria,  with  a  favourite  song,  Mrs.  Richardson. 

To  be  followed  by  a  new  farce  called 
JOE  SHORT. 

Principal  characters  by  Mr.  Cowell,  Mr.  An- 
derton,  Mr.  Wright,  Mrs.  Mackenzie,  Mrs. 
Wright,  and  Mrs.  Germon. 

To  conclude  with  the 

WIDOW'S  VICTIM. 

Jeremiah  Clip,  with  his 

inimitable  imitations   -  Mr.  Cowell. 

Jenny Mrs.  Richardson. 

The  Widow   -    -    -    -  Mrs.  Mackenzie. 


The  Splendid  Tin  Cup! 
will  be  exhibited  on  the  day  of  performance, 
and  a  deposite  at  George  Cull  urn's  made  at  the 
bar  by  the  committee,  for  Cowell's  friends  to 
drink  to  his  success  in  a  bumper .'" 


102 


THIRTY    YEARS 


The  resident  population  of  Mobile  is  too  re- 
fined in  taste,  and  too  well  acquainted  with  how 
the  drama  ought  to  be  conducted,  to  visit  the 
theatre  at  all,  unless  very  superior  attraction  be 
offered;  and  at  this  season  of  the  year  all  stran- 
gers are  moving  homeward  as  fast  as  they  can. 
with  the  exception  of  the  new  members  of  the 
Can't-gct-away  Club,  and,  poor  fellows,  their  play- 
going  days  were  passed  long  ago.  Now  setting 
at  defiance  all  these  disadvantages,  the  steward 
of  the  steamboat  Southerner,  who  had  so  far  the 
advantage  of  Dumas  that  he  had  a  taste  for 
acting  as  well  as  managing,  opened  a  new  es- 
tablishment in  a  large  room  over  the  Corinthian 
— a  splendid  grogshop— and  called  it  the  Ameri- 
can T7i£atre. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hodges,  Sinclair,  and  Jemmy 
Thorne  were  engaged  as  stars ;  there  were  none 
but  stars  employed,  I  believe,  including  the  stew- 
ard, who,  unfortunately,  indulged  himself  by  giv- 
ing his  conception  of  Richard  the  Third,  and  got 
hissed  so  heartily  that  he  advertised  his  retirement 
from  dramatic  life  at  the  end  of  the  week ;  and 
in  the  same  paper  I  saw  that  "  the  American 
Theatre  was,  for  the  future"  to  be  under  the 
management  of  the  pretty  young  woman  who 
played  Grace  Harkaway  originally,  and  so  very 
badly,  at  the  Park. 

To  effectively  compete  with  such  an  opposi- 
tion, Doctor  Lardner  was  engaged  at  the  theatre 
to  deliver  a  course  of  astronomical  lectures,  and, 
in  excellent  taste,  Mr.  George  Holland  to  ex- 
hibit his  magnificent  Optical  Illusions  on  the  sane 
evenings! 

For  some  time  past  a  horde  of  locomotive 
penny -magazine  men  had  been  scattering  their 
real  and  pretended  knowledge  about  the  country, 
dignified  by  the  name  of  lectures,  till,  like  every 
babble  fashion  indiscriminately  inflates,  the 
practice  had  become  most  ridiculously  distend- 
ed. Of  course,  the  more  inexplicable  the  sub- 
ject of  dissertation,  the  more  attractive;  and, 
therefore,  every  description  of  mysterious  hum- 
buggery  had  been  administered,  and  greedily 
swallowed,  and  followed,  though  decency  might 
be  set  at  defiance  under  the  influence  of  exhilara- 
ting gas,  or  common  sense  prostrated  by  experi- 
mental Mesmerism.  This  imbecile  mania  pro- 
duced some  little  good,  at  any  rate.  It  had  open- 
ed an  unexpected  path  for  a  few  scientific  men, 
with  a  small  share  of  worldly  tact,  and  expensive 
families,  to  find  a  ready  money-market  for  their 
hitherto  unsaleable  philosophical  attainments. 
The  doctor  was  one  of  these;  and  very  judi- 
ciously took  the  moon  by  the  horns,  by  way  of 
a  bold  beginning,  and  without  much  danger  of 
the  numerous  intellectual  itinerant  quacks  pre- 
suming to  intrude  with  him 

"  Into  the  heaven  of  heavens  !" 

A  very  fashionable  audience  attended  his  first 
lecture.  The  upper  portion  of  the  theatre  was 
kept  closed  on  the  occasion,  and  very  prudently, 
too,  for  I  certainly  think  the  gods  would  never 
have  sat  quietly  and  patiently  for  an  hour  and  a 
half  to  hear  their  old  acquaintance,  the  moon, 
abused  like  a  pickpocket.  All  that  portion  of 
her  early  history  which  we  usually  learn  in  the 
nursery — so  simple,  and  yet  so  wonderful — was 
most  agreeable  to  hear  repeated  with  a  bit  of  the 
brogue ;  but  devil  a  bit  of  the  blarny  was  used  to 
describe  her,  now  that  she  is  found  out  to  be  a 
hard,  ill-formed,  chaotic  lump  of  disagrecableiuss, 
*'  without  one  good  quality  under  heaven." 
The  doctor  is  such  a  notoriously  gallant  man, 


too,  that  one  would  have  thought  her  grammat- 
ical sex  would  have  protected  her  from  the  rude 
and  familiar  manner  in  which  he  spoke  of  her 
behind  her  back,  as  if  she  were 

"Ease  and  unlustrous  as  the  smoky  light 
That's  fed  with  stinking  tallow." 

And,  after  setting  the  only  beauty  he  allowed 
her  to  possess  (and  that  a  borrowed  one)  at  de- 
fiance, with  his  proposed  Drummond  Pharos,  he 
must  have  the  Irish  impudence  of  Daniel  O'Con- 
nell  himself  if  ever  he  looked  her  in  the  face 
again.  And  her  inhabitants,  too,  if  she  has  any, 
according  to  his  account,  are  the  most  unpleas- 
ant people  on  earth — neither  able  to  walk,  talk, 
smell,  see,  hear,  touch,  taste,  nor  do  anything 
like  other  respectable  persons.  In  short,  as  But- 
ler says  of  some  other  lecturer,  more  than  a 
century  and  a  half  ago, 

"  Her  secrets  understood  so  clear, 
That  some  believed  he  had  been  there  ; 
Told  what  her  d'meter  t'an  inch  is, 
And  proved  that  she's  not  made  of  green  cheese." 

In  fact,  destroying,  in  very  commonplace  prose, 
half  the  charm  of  Moore's  poetry ;  and,  indeed, 
everybody's  poetry ;  and  what  is  worse,  and 
cruel,  annihilating,  with  these  scientific  imagin- 
ings, the  childish  hope  (if  you  please)  of  the  poor 
shipwrecked  mariner,  who  cheats  despair  with 
the  innocent  reliance  on  the  moon's  change  to 
bring  relief,  while  clinging  to  life,  "  with  one 
plank  between  him  and  destruction."  But,  se- 
riously, if  all  Doctor  Lardner  said  that  night  is 
really  true,  and  any  one  believed  that  it  was, 

"  A  sadder  and  a  wiser  man 
He  rose  the  morrow  morn." 

George  Holland's  exhibition  followed.  He  is 
a  man  after  my  own  heart,  and  thinks,  with  old 
John  Ford, 

"  Far  better  'tis 
To  bless  the  sun,  than  reason  why  he  shines." 

His  magic  lantern  was  wisely  introduced  be- 
tween the  first  and  second  parts  of  the  lunatic 
harangue,  and  the  audience  seemed  to  express 
their  sense  of  the  pleasing  relief  by  their  fre- 
quent approbation.  This  was  as  it  should  be; 
this  was  delightful;  it  disturbed  no  innocently 
happy  belief,  but  brought  back,  in  all  its  fresh- 
ness, the  days  of  our  childhood — the  Christmas 
holydays,  the  evening  at  home,  the  hoarse  mu- 
sic of  the  grinding  organ,  and  the  cry  of  the 
shivering  Italian  "  Gallant ee  shmv!"  indistinctly 
heard  through  the  pattering  rain.  The  joyous 
preparation  for  its  reception — the  screen  put 
round  the  blazing  fire,  the  large  table-cloth  fork- 
ed against  the  wall,  and  the  homely,  moral  fun, 
never  to  be  forgotten,  of  pull  devil!  pull  baker ! 

But,  when  you  come  to  think  of  it,  what  a 
strange  combination  to  form  a  fashionable  en- 
tertainment in  this  lecturing  age,  in  a  play- 
house, instead  of  the  sterling  comedy,  supported 
by  the  educated,  good  old  actor,  "all  of  the  old- 
en time !"  The  doctor  labouring  with  scientific 
enthusiasm  to  make  you  look  with  philosophic 
apathy,  instead  of  awe  and  admiration,  on  one 
of  the  most  conspicuous  wonders  in  nature;  and 
Holland,  with  his  show,  demanding  you  to  be 
once  more  a  child,  to  enable  you  to  express  de- 
light at  his  little  trifles  in  art. 

As  I  wandered  through  Orange  Grove,  on  my 
way  to  my  solitary  lodgings,  I  looked  up  at 

"  Mine  own  loved  light," 

and  could  not  help  but  regret  that  Locke's  de- 
scription of  her  had  so  soon  been  found  out  to 


PASSED  AMONG  THE  PLAYERS. 


103 


be  a  hoax.  What  glorious  playhouse  lectures 
he  covld  have  made  !  "  with  new  scenery,  ma- 
chinery, dresses,  and  decorations;"  much  more 
agreeable  to  listen  to,  and  quite  as  easy  to  be- 
lieve, as  Dr.  Lardner's  learned  suppositions. 

The  next  day  I  went  to  New-Orleans.  As  I 
had  predicted  before  the  building  was  completed, 
Caldwell  had  been  unable  to  maintain  the  Amer- 
ican ;  his  system  is  too  legitimate  for  these  de- 
generate days.  At  the  end  of  a  month  he  pub- 
lished a  manly  valedictory,  and  bade  farewell 
to  management  forever.  Dinneford,  who  had 
achieved  some  unenviable  notoriety  as  a  theatri- 
cal speculator  at  New- York,  some  how  or  anoth- 
er became  the  lessee.  His  career,  as  might  have 
been  expected,  was  of  very  short  duration.  Mrs. 
Sefton  now  had  the  control :  the  company  was 
small,  but  her  superior  talent  and  experienced 
energy  made  it  respectably  effective.  I  looked 
in  only  for  an  instant.  Connor  was  toddling 
about  as  Richelieu,  and  Rowly  Marks,  a  distin- 
guished member  of  the  Synagogue,  with  an  ex- 
traordinary large   emblem  of  Christianity  tied 


round  his  middle,  toddling  after  him  as  "  Jo-o~ 
zeph." 

Ludlow  and  Smith  had  managed  to  scrape  to- 
gether some  bricks  and  mortar,  and  built  a  small, 
unpretending  affair,  in  one  corner  of  the  ruins  of 
the  Temple,  and  called  it  the  St.  Charles.  The 
interior  is  very  neat  and  pretty.  The  night  I 
was  there,  Colonel  Richard  M.  Johnson,  the  ex- 
Vice-president  of  the  United  States,  had  also  hon- 
oured the  theatre  with  his  presence,  but  there 
was  a  very  .slim  house,  notwithstanding — very 
few  ladies;  and  a  Quadroon  ball  happening  on 
the  same  evening,  at  which,  it  was  ridiculously 
hinted,  it  was  the  intention  of  the  colonel  to  at- 
tend, accounted  for  the  absence  of  that  portion 
of  the  audience.  . 

On  the  day  that  the  fanatic,  Miller,  said  the 
world  would  end,  I  took  my  departure  from  the 
Balize  —  which  is  more  like  the  last  end  of  it 
than  any  place  that  can  be  imagined  —  in  the 
brig  Orchilla,  bound  to  Baltimore,  with  her  hold 
full  of  pork,  and  a  deck-load  of  molasses  and 
blue-bottle  flies. 


THE  END. 


/ 


/ 


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